


What Lies In The Castle Walls

by christi_writes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Body Worship, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demonic Possession, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Mentions of Female Crowley, Murder Mystery, Oral Sex, Other, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex, Suspense, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Thriller, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 174,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christi_writes/pseuds/christi_writes
Summary: Victorian AU. A celebration at an aristocrat’s castle turns deadly with a murder most foul. Paranormal encounters at every dark turn, humans going carnal left and right, and if that stupid Duke puts his hands on Aziraphale one more bloody time, Crowley was going to lose it.-Or-Circa 1880's Victorian Era. Crowley's just woken up from his century nap and the world has changed, including Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 559
Kudos: 544
Collections: Tip Top Stories





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Circa 1880's Victorian Era. Crowley's just woken up from his century nap and the world has changed, including Aziraphale.
> 
> This is my first story posted on AO3, and I'm really exited! Hope you all enjoy!

The humans called it the Industrial Revolution.

Crowley called it his latest masterpiece: the birth of pollution.

And was rewarded handsomely by his superiors.

Humans could be stunning little worker-bees at the best of times. How he loved their explosive growth spurts and filthy habits. A little too dark for him at times, but it gave him a rather glorious soap box in Hell with the dark council. And enough credits to take some time off. A good century nap, recognition and job security, and now a small vacation in a new era of humanity! What next? Life was going pretty goo—pretty grea—life was going in a direction that he couldn’t say for sure, but it conjured the best daydreams, and all the best possibilities.

At the rate his luck was going, finding the best chocolates, the finest flowers, were all going to make for a perfect night with a certain adversary. And one couldn’t see their adversary without the help of the finest tailor, he would make sure of that. His black Spanish cloak would be the perfect giveaway to the nights events; can’t go to the opera without the proper stylish attire. The red vest and gold trim underneath gave the perfect splash of color against solid black, courtesy of the old suit maker and it earned him a generous tip. And as if he even needed the extra height, but top hats were all the rave now. And okay, he didn’t technically _need_ a walking cane, but it was a deep red mahogany with a gold cobra head he simply couldn’t pass that up.

Yet as soon as stepped up to the bookshop that first day, dressed to the nines holding only the finest roses and dozen chocolates London had to offer did he feel the last of his luck suddenly dry out.

“Away…on holiday?” Crowley’s eyes roamed the note tapped to the window of the front door, slit pupils gazing over his blackout spectacles as if the words would somehow change their meaning. They didn’t, and by no small amount of effort to persuade otherwise either. Minutes went by as the city moved around Crowley, but he couldn’t focus on it over his own disappointment settling heavy in his chest. Those three words, and that perfect signature, gave no indication of how long he should wait until he could step into that bookstore again, smell aged wood and old paper. Soft cologne and the sweet steam of hot chocolate…

Crowley looked up into the sky and exhaled through his nose. Well, it was a good run. Time to lick wounds in a dark corner of some rusty old pub for thirty-six hours straight.

His journey to find that said rusty old pub was interceded by a nosy waitress at a cafe three stores down from the bookshop. The pastries they displayed in the front window could make anyone come back from holiday, and maybe he was just a little bit desperate for that kind of miracle right now.

“If it were me, I’d travel.” The plump middle-aged waitress said offhandedly after setting the steaming cup of tea on the table next to his sad slumped frame. “No’sure where I’d go, but issa new world out there, sir. Lots t’see. Could be good for ya.” If only she knew what he’d seen. But she wasn’t wrong. Maybe indulging in some demonic wiles on the road would be good for him. He could always check in every few years, just in case.

“ _Gotta job for ya._ ” Too indulged in his own sulk, Crowley didn’t catch the sudden throaty croak of the woman’s voice.

“Afraid I’ll have to turn down your job offer, mum. As appealing as washing dishes sounds, it’s not really my thing.”

_“Pull your head outta your ass, Crawly, and pay attention.”_

Crowley perked his head up in alarm, only to find the air in the café had become thick and dreary with the stench of rot, a musty haze settling over the furniture and condensed on the windows with thick moisture. The humming background noise of idle chatter was replaced by a heavy silence, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out where the customers went.

Judging by the way her head slumped to one side and the limpness of her arms and legs, the only thing holding the waitress up was the demonic control over her soul. The teapot she had with her managed to hang on by a few fingers hooked around the handle, yet it’s steaming contents splattered dark against the white tiled floor. Her eyes—blue, or brown, or something—were replaced by a murky white, looking all the more haunting by her slack-jawed expression.

“Very subtle, Hastur…” Was all Crowley could say in his attempt to appear nonchalant and continued to ignore the light sheen of sweat on the nape of his neck.

_“Didn’t come’ere for your smartass remarks. Our Prince is requesting you for a job.”_

“As honored as I am, _really_ , that our dark lord asked for me specifically, I’m currently trying to enjoy some time off as you can see.” He waved a hand lazily over his current state.

Hastur grunted approvingly. “ _Yes, and you look pathetic. Spreading misery through the public. I will let Lord Beelzebub know you are spending it wisely.”_

Crowley never could enjoy a compliment in Hell when they sounded so degrading. It shouldn’t sound so backwards to him, being a demon and all.

 _“Undocumented demonic activity. Need you to fill out a report and submit it into Records.”_ Black ichor bubbled and fizzed from the waitress’s slack mouth to splatter down her apron. Crowley leaned back and curled his fingers in. “Eh, y’got a little something… ergh, nevermind.”

_“Some aristocrat bought a castle in Wales and is hosting a private celebration. The invitation and train ticket are in the folder on the table.”_

A water stained manila file materialized next to Crowley’s cup. With a quick glance down, he blinked at it for several seconds. When he blinked back up at Hastur he gave the other demon a suspicious look. Just as his gloved hand landed on the file and slowly slid it closer to himself, he paused suddenly and let out a snort.

“Document demonic goings-on and report it back to HQ…that’s it?”

_“Pretty much.”_

“And you expect me to believe that?”

_“I don’t givva toss what you believe.”_

“Fair enough.” Crowley rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his styled back red hair. Brief flashes of deep ocean blue eyes crossed his mind, the cling of champagne flutes rang in his ears. The reality of his situation settled in his chest like the heavy fog in the café, and he wondered how long it had been since he’d last seen his angel. _The_ angel, certainly not his, but as long as he kept that to himself, he didn’t mind letting it selfishly slip a few times.

A few more years wouldn’t hurt. Hopefully.

“Sure…why not.” And with a tight-lipped sarcastic smile, Crowley sat up straight and nodded at the other demon before opening the file.

 _“I should also mention, we received word that our… **adversaries** ,” _Hastur spat the word in a mucusy glob on the table next to Crowley's hand like it was sugar in his rotted mouth, _“have assigned one of theirs to investigate the activity. Don’t be surprised if you run into that poofy little Principality….”_

Oh?

Crowley whirled his head back to look at the possessed waitress with more excitement than he’d meant to and had to quickly find an answer to Hastur’s quirked eyebrow.

“You don’t say?”

_“There a problem?”_

“A problem?” Crowley declared, rising to his feet until he stood a good foot over the waitress, peering down at her with a fanged grin. “Do you know what this means?”

_“Uh…”_

“I’ve just helped the world become a more toxic place, and now I get to thwart my arch nemesis?” He balled his gloved fingers into a fist and shook it. “You just wait, when I get my hands on that _angel_ ,” oh, he was going tell him all about the vivid dreams he had of them, like rowing in a duck boat down St. James Pond, and then they turned into ducks! He also couldn’t wait to hear the rich chuckle when he tells Aziraphale of yet another human innovation he took credit for, “I’m going to show Heaven not to mess with Crowley when he’s this pumped up!”

Gross, Hastur looked _touched_.

_“I-I’ve never seen you like this before.”_

“And there’s more where this came from when I’m done, Hastur ol’ boy.” With a pat on the shoulder, Crowley turned and hastily collected the flowers and chocolates along with the file from the table before Hastur noticed, and with cane in hand and a newfound hope, he strode proudly out the door.

_“Oi, I didn’t tell you where the carriage was—”_

Crowley threw a hand over his shoulder. “Gothic, black carriage driven by four hellish looking horses with coats as black as the night. Got it, will keep an eye out.”

Maybe his luck hadn’t ran out after all, he mused to himself as he walked down the cobble street. Perhaps luck just had it’s own way to keeping you on your toes, giving enough then pulling back only to surprise you with another round of fortunate—

Crowley paused in his stroll. He had exited the café in such a hurry, he hadn’t thought of making sure Hastur hadn’t left it in the state he made it. The waitress wasn’t _that_ bad, and he still had no idea where the customers had been sent to....

With a thoughtful shrug, Crowley continued forward.

They’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope I kept Crowley in character. I love writing him like this. Next chapter will really dive into a lot of plot buildings, and the appearance of our favorite Principality <3\. Let me know what you guys think! Comments are welcome!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's arrival, some interesting characters are introduced, and a surprising new appearance ignites a flurry of emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the feedback! 
> 
> Okay, so a few things. One: I know Crowley's first name wasn't introduced to Aziraphale until WWII, but for the sake of this story I'm going to use it early. Two: the more I write this the more I realize the plot mentioned in the summary will not be immediate, but will we'll get to that in just a few more chapters. For now, enjoy the build up~!

Needless to say, the trip was boring. And not like gloomy-Shakespearean play boring, or one of Dagon’s speeches boring, either. It was the kind that turned your bones to lead weight, put you just on the precipice of a nice nap but left you just enough energy to become aggravated.

Crowley despised boredom and all the nine realms of it.

So when trees cleared and the massive expanse of castle appeared in the distance, Crowley nearly threw himself out of his seat to look out the window. Finally. He reached into his chest pocket and checked his watch. He could guess an hour more until they reached the entrance, and however tempting it was to make the horses pick up speed, they were probably still cross with him from only hours prior when he attempted. Which was understandable; Crowley was proud enough to admit he’d been annoying, but it only caused the twitching in his foot to creeped up to his knee to wag impatiently.

Stubborn shifty eyed beasts, the lot of them.

The next hour, like the past however many, passed brutally slow. The little blond angels dancing in his fantasies had finally disappeared with the soft jolt of the carriage coming to a stop. When the carriage doors finally opened, Crowley had to keep himself from jumping out and into the crisp air of the countryside, much more refreshing than what the air had become in London after all that _human innovation_.

From close up, the castle swallowed the scenery in solid stone. Grand arches from stories high blocked out any indication the structure was built on a shoreline to the ocean, and stoned gargoyles perched upon the edges gave an impression that the castle was always vigilant. The front yard was a maze of lush garden and rolling hills of grass as far as the eye could see. Crowley tipped his hat up at the thought. Quite an impressive piece of property for a human.

Not to mention the just barely noticeable trace of something sinister lurking about the grounds. Like a spice buried beneath an array of other more overpowering flavors, however hidden but unmistakably present. Ah, so this was what Hell sent him here for…

Noise and motion littered about the entrance. Carriages lined up the stretch of road as expensive looking guests stepped out of each. Servants hustled and bustled with luggage, the stable men escorting horses to the stable after each carriage was emptied. It seemed everyone was to arrive at a specific time.

“Lord Crowley!” The jolly shout was not hard to drown out, and had Crowley turning his head to see a delightfully portly servant shuffling toward him with an outstretched hand. Crowley’s hand was pulled into a firm shake before he had any say-so.

“What an honor it will be having you stay at our home,” he chortled despite the creeping scowl on Crowley’s face, “when his Lord had announced your acceptance to the invitation, I was beside meself!”

The demon made a mental note to reread his backstory again just to be sure he remained in character. And this time, he’d make sure not to drift off after the second sentence.

“Much obliged,” Crowley replied, pulling his hand back to himself.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m the groundskeeper, Willard Tuff, and I’ll be making sure your belongings get to where they need to be. Feel free to the gardens or any refreshments inside while we get you settled in.” The old man dipped his head in a sort of bow and waddled off happily to the next carriage, the echoes of his rehearsed greeting trailing behind him.

Well, time to go find a certain—

“Sir, _please_ , you are holding up the line.”

Crowley turned again, and watched with growing interest as a stable boy kicked his foot in the dirt and glared daggers at the driver of his carriage. With only few tall strides he stopped and followed the young man’s aggravated stare to the cloaked and hooded figure still sitting in the drivers seat of the carriage, the steer still firmly grasped in hands shrouded by baggy sleeves.

“What seems to be the problem?” Crowley asked.

The stable boy took two quick glances at Crowley before fumbling over himself and leaning to bow. “My apologies, milord. I need to take the horses back’round to the stables. He…” his young age became apparent in his next huff, “…he won’t _move_.”

Shaded eyes switched from the boy to the figure on the carriage. Ah, one of Hastur’s expendable goons; empty headed vessel only created for a single purpose to accomplish a minor task before disappearing from existence. Crowley clapped the boy on the shoulder, and he circled around him before continuing on. “Better not. He’s been the only one thus far who can control these stubborn beasts,” one of the hellhorses blew out what could have been argued as steam from its nostrils with an intimidating snort that nearly had the boy running if it were not for the grip on his shoulder, “if you lead’em back he’ll follow you in.”

Leaving the matter behind, Crowley strode forward and told himself no more distractions. He’d come a long way, and he needed to know of Aziraphale’s whereabouts. There was only so much effort he could put in to keep the roses from wilting, and he spent a hell of a lot of time picking them out, dammit.

His eyes stayed vigilant for a coat of white, or eggshell, or tartan though he _desperately_ hoped his angel hadn’t gotten _that_ carried away with it. The first place he checked was the refreshment table in the greeting hall, because of course the sky is blue and Aziraphale would never pass up quality snacks. But to Crowley’s dismay he hadn’t spotted a trace of his angelic companion, not a mess of blond curls, not a sweet pleasant laugh anywhere to be heard. He tried outside next, on each side of the courtyard eager to see the angel sneaking crumbs from his lunch to the ducks around one of several ponds.

The dank air of an oncoming humid afternoon became increasingly annoying, and Crowley rang a finger between his ruffled collar and neck. Humidity didn’t affect him, but the annoyance definitely made up for it.

“Got a match?”

So caught up in his search, Crowley hadn’t noticed the sudden appearance of another person until a shoulder appeared in his peripheral, and he turned slowly to match the broad and baritone voice with an equally broad man. Dressed in a frock coat and hair split down the middle, the man stared at the pond in front of them with the same lack-thereof interest Crowley had. His hands patted every pocket he could find, a thick and rather expensive looking cigar clenched between his bottom lip and bushy mustache.

“Afraid not.” Crowley nodded simply.

“Just my luck, then,” the demon had no mind to share his, “even a moment’s peace is too much to ask for.”

“Don’t I know it.” Crowley clicked his teeth, hoping the human caught on. They never do.

The man chuckled absentmindedly at Crowley’s remark, still looking for his matches. What he eventually pulled out instead was a cigar twin to his own, and offered it to Crowley, who eyed it silently for a few seconds before accepting it.

“Might as well enjoy while we still can, eh?” The man’s voice dripped aristocracy, and with it poured a magnificent amount of sin. Oh, Crowley knew this kind of human; the type he’d be seeing again downstairs with time. It was instances like this where having blackout glasses gained its benefits and allowed serpent eyes to observe the human from the rich shine of his boots to the oiled hair of his greasy head. A banker, no doubt. Or an attorney. He wasn’t sure.

“The maid should be ‘round in just a second. She should have one,” it didn’t stop him from checking his pockets for the fourth time in Crowley’s presence, “you ‘ere with the family, as well?”

“No,” the demon shook his head, “not interested in any of that lot.”

Being clipped and nasty usually did the trick to ward off the extroverted humans. Joke about punching a baby, or how poverty is the next frontier, and Crowley could be left to his own pleasant company undisturbed.

Unfortunately, the man ate it up with a belt of laughter.

“I like the cut of your meat, sir.” The cut of his what? “Charlotte would get a kick of out you. Charlotte is my wife, you see. Very cut and dry humor, that one. You must come ‘round for drinks sometime.” Oh, of all the humans he could encounter here, he just had to get stuck with one of the clingy ones.

Crowley opened his mouth to decline, but shut it immediately when the man turned and let out a ungentlemanly bark across the lawn, startling birds and the elderly.

“Ms. Fell! Bring the matches!”

Clingy _and_ obnoxious.

“What brings you here, ah…” long fingers waved at the man for his name but kept a good distance from a handshake. Fortunately, the man shared the demon’s sentiment for handshakes, and kept patting over the same pockets, growing more desperate by the second. “Charles Windsor. Call me Charles.”

 _Call me Charles._ Crowley wished it was socially acceptable to mock people in public.

“ _Ms. Fell!—_ sorry, ol’boy—where are the _matches?!_ Sorry, didn’t catch your name?”

“…Anthony Crowley. You can call me Sir.”

He’d go back to Hell and tell them humans could swivel their heads like owls if he wanted to, and he wouldn’t be wrong. The speed in which Charles’ head snapped to attention could have very well broken the man’s bones. “ _Anthony Crowley_?” Crowley would pay the man never to say his name like that again. “ _Well_ , certainly an honor being in the presence of a _guard dog_. Charlotte will _love_ this.”

He _really_ needed to reread that backstory when he had the chance.

“That’s right,” and there was no other way to fly blind than to just go with the reactions sometimes, “and perhaps you can be of assistance?”

Charles sputtered, and possibly _blushed_. “Ask away, Sir.”

“You haven’t come across a fair-skinned gentlemen in a light colored coat, by any chance?”

“Hm, no I suppose— _where is she with those bloody_ —not that I’ve met yet. Why you ask?”

Crowley had to remain smooth. “Erh, well,” he shrugged innocently, “I believe his carriage cut mine off a few miles back on the way here. Itchin to have a few words with the bloke.” A bit rusty from sleep, but good enough.

“Ms. Fell!” Charles had finally had it with a quick stomp of his boot. “Are you _ever_ going to show up with those matches!?”

“My deepest apologies, Sir!”

Church bells sang that very minute, a lovely tune that could send any demon straight to the bowels of Hell to drown in a pit of unworthiness. Crowley stood firmly grounded, yet he couldn’t save his heart from being dragged down.

It had been thousands of years since a voice like that had held such a tempting harmony.

And yet, it was different somehow. The tone was much too high pitch, and dare he say it, _angel soft_ without an underlying tone of bastard. No, that wasn’t right. Who else could possess Crowley’s well-being with a simple utterance of grace and enchant him with such sweet sound?

Instead of waxing poetry, he decided to turn and confront that voice, and his corporation felt three times hotter.

Long delicate curls whipped behind a pale round face, thick braid so blond it was almost the absence of pure white bouncing with every hurried leap. Crowley could see every delicious curve of body just from the way that beautiful frame ran towards them, a pink blush overtaking otherwise porcelain cheeks and smooth neck, down, down to breasts that rebelled against its laced constraints with every bounce. Dear _Satan_ , he wanted to live between them, retire early and spend every minute in those soft, warm—

“My favorite part about hirin’ her.”

Crowley wanted to drown this man in a shallow pond.

Panting and nearly rumpled, the woman finally stopped in front of them with a hand outstretched, presenting the matches at last. As soon as Charles snatched the matches from her hand she began straightening the rumples of her outfit; a basic faded cream dress with a pale blue apron, and Crowley trailed his eyes down to her weathered brown shoes before making his way up to inspect her face…

…and it was then that the other shoe dropped and kicked Crowley right in the gut.

“My…hah, my apologies, Mr. Windsor.” She huffed a few times to catch her breath. “The matches were, were in one of the bags, you see…”

Crowley took it back. _Now_ the other shoe had dropped and kicked Crowley in the gut a second time. Eyes as clear as a cloudless sky locked onto his and could have shattered his spectacles with its intensity. Two full, plump lips parted in a silent gasp and with-it time itself ceased to exist.

In all the years Crowley had been assigned to this world, Aziraphale had never changed his corporation past a haircut or a new coat every decade or so. And maybe the reason why had to do with the obvious display of beauty standing before him.

If Crowley was no more still than the dead, then Aziraphale was a statue. Neither of them moved for what felt like eternity.

“Keep a spare in your pocket then.” Charles sneered behind plums of cigar smoke.

In the blink of an eye the world reverted to normal, and Charles needed to go find another pond to smoke next to in the next five seconds or Crowley was surely about to punt him across the yard. And after all, what’s a few miracles wasted on scrubbing away some human memories about a man who’d met his bitter end with his head submerged in only a foot of pond water anyway.

“An excellent idea, Mr. Windsor.” The obedient bow of her head broke the eye contact as she turned, yet the effect Crowley’s presence had on Aziraphale was evident in the stiffness of her shoulders and shallow breaths. No matter where they went, what they chose to look like, Crowley and Aziraphale could spot each other with a simple glance. It was the world around them and the task at hand that dictated how they acknowledged one another at those times, and Crowley hated that fact.

Because right now the only thing he wanted to do was throw his cape over Aziraphale’s shoulders and sweep her away. He wanted to miracle that horrid outfit to a lavish afternoon gown fit for no other but his angel. He could stop time right now with a simple concentrated command, but he knew better. Those types of tricks were only for emergencies and despite Crowley’s personal beliefs this sadly did not constitute as an emergency.

“Have you finished unpacking the luggage, Ms. Fell?” Charles looked at Aziraphale while handing the matches to Crowley.

The angel kept her head bowed. “No, Sir, not completely.”

Charles let out a scoff. “Well, what are you still doing here?”

Aziraphale finally lifted her head at the remark, and her bewildered and barely concealed exasperation was not unwarranted. Her shoulders remained straight as she stared at the man for a few quiet seconds before replying _timidly,_ “I…Sir, you had requested me away to fetch—”

“And you’ve already served that purpose, now ‘ave you? Don’t just stand there, _get to it_.”

Trickling through the heavy scent of cigar smoke around them was a suspicious waft of burning leather, which was odd for a cigar to smell like that before Crowley’s brain connected the dots, and he didn’t have to look to know it was coming from the leather glove of his right hand now balled into a tight fist. He couldn’t have possibly looked anyway, because that would have meant breaking the seething glare the demon sincerely hoped the human could feel.

The air crackled with sparks of energy only a ghost of a sign that a demonic miracle was in the works, and Crowley had no idea what sort of miracle he was about to conjure. What we _was_ certain of, however, was the memory-wipe miracle that would sorely need to follow for damage control. One hand gripped the cane enough to stress the wood, the other balled so tight knuckles popped to attention, and the serpent entertained briefly which would cause more damage—

The energy faded and was instantly replaced by a calming aura Crowley knew too well, which finally broke his glare. His eyes shifted slightly and caught the sideways glance of Aziraphale’s eyes hidden underneath bangs that fell as she bowed lower to Charles. Though her posture was directed at the human, her focus was on no one other than Crowley.

Her eyes were piercing, and through their unspoken language the demon knew full well what the angel was telling him.

_Don’t._

He challenged her, and she pushed back.

_Please._

Clever angel always knowing how to make him kneel to her wants.

A single blink relayed his surrender to the issue, but Aziraphale had already turned her attention back to the human. “Yes, Sir.” She muttered softly and turned on the balm of one foot away from the two men and began hurrying toward the castle. Something in Crowley’s throat stuck at watching her retreat yet was not taken aback when she paused for only a second and glanced quickly over her shoulder quicker than the mortal eye could see.

Let it be unspoken and known well between the two what the other said at the same time the instant their eyes met across the lawn.

_Come find me._

_I will find you._

“Sorry for the trouble, mate.” Charles sighed with an apologetic shake of his head. “S’hard finding good help these days. She’s lucky she looks the way she does er she wouldn’t ‘ave a job.” With another shrug of his hand, he all but waved the matches in Crowley’s direction. “Here, light yourself a— _good fucking grace!”_

For such a big man, he certainly did squeal like a frightened pig. Crowley watched on silently while the entire matchbook engulfed in flames in Charles’ hand, and whatever flammable material his glove was made of went with it. Apparently putting the fire out by beating his hand against his body was an inventive—and judging by the many heads that turned his way a very _entertaining—_ preventative measure.

With a quick throw-and-catch of his cane, Crowley strolled away with a poorly hidden smirk.

“You’d think being so close to the coast the air wouldn’t be so dry.” It was more humid than a tropical rainforest out here, but who was checking? “I can see you’re busy. Some other time then, _Charles._ ”

He had an angel to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really enjoyed writing Crowley, guys. We'll be seeing Aziraphale's POV soon, but I'm having a blast. I hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> Comments bring me life ◕‿◕ let me know what you think! And thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale learns about Crowley's reputation, and a conversation with an interesting maid leaves the Principality with more questions and some growing concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you all so much for the feedback! To all my readers out there, your comments and opinions are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Second, I did not intend for this chapter to be Aziraphale-centered, but I ended up writing 6,000+ words and realized I had to cut it into two. This is the first time I've written Aziraphale's character, and had so much fun writing it! I hope I did right by our favorite angel. <3 Enjoy!

Being an entity of God’s divine grace came with an endless capacity of love for all her creations equally. And to unquestioningly and undoubtedly sustain that behavior was crucial in its quest for the greater good, however trivial a feat it may be at times. Because when questioned there was more often than not, if at all it seemed nowadays, no answer and left the inquirer feeling a sense of expectation to fill in any gray areas.

The irony in this of course is why Heaven had no gray areas. Rules and regulations from record keeping to accomplishing tasks from higher up, everything was black and white; as if somewhere along the line the highest ranked representatives of The Almighty had decided gray area be damned, they weren’t taking any chances. If something worked the first few times without punishment, then it became law. In a _so shall it be written, so shall it be done_ kind of fashion.

To be fair, angels were known to be quite…two dimensional. With everything.

Everything.

Because when your Mother is the loving yet quiet judgmental type, one did have to rely on technicalities in order to carry out Her Will. O _n a wing and a prayer_ , as the human idiom went. Aziraphale always did appreciate the pun.

But Aziraphale wasn’t a book collector and a proud scholar for nothing. To truly understand one’s message, one must read between the lines. So, the angel did such and through that gained a very pleasant revelation; out of all her dear siblings following Her Divine Will so dutifully it was the Principality Aziraphale who knew her quiet Mother best; a bond based out of trust. Gray areas were no threat to them, they were tools to encourage growth and individuality so long as it did good by every living creature.

Aziraphale indulged in the gray area, and though she had her fair share of trials and tribulations they were not a result of malicious intent by The Almighty. Although there were those who begged to differ; the angel whose name drifted through hallways in whisper, whose _strange_ opinions bordered on more human than angelic, whose bosses took it upon themselves to weigh out whether or not they should relinquish their operative from her position before she became too far native to come home, and without any regard for her feelings and….

It was best not to dwell on those things.

Realigning with her earlier point, Aziraphale knew the kind of unconditional love God meant.

But God also didn’t say anything about having to _like_ her creations. Or at least some of them. And fortunately, nothing in her assignment specifically mentioned it either.

So yes, gray areas were _very_ important.

This was the record that played in Aziraphale’s mind for the last several weeks. Over and over did these thoughts spin like the plates on her fingers, balancing every responsibility thrown at her through this new assignment; The _Windsors_.

She never questioned, _never._ But it didn’t stop her from pondering, and silently weighing one opinion over another. Charlotte and Charles Windsor were two of the most bizarre choices for a heavenly assignment Aziraphale received yet. They were not the _worst_ , she couldn’t give them that honorary title, but they were certainly an outlier.

Wealth, both earned and stolen, poured from their pockets on selfish indulgent habits –and coming from an angel who appreciated the art of indulging, that was saying something— but Aziraphale’s selfish indulgences were certainly not the type that took from others or at someone else’s expense. Their home had to be the most lavish and the tapestry and drapes only the rarest imports. Aziraphale would never disregard fine décor for the sake of a moral high-ground, but the Windsor’s home seemed…excessive. And one of these days someone was going to tell Charlotte about how that much gold with _that_ much teal was far too much.

Not to mention the poor bears and lions whose lives were exchanged for floor rugs. Aziraphale shivered. The Trophy Room was one of her least favorite things about all this. Although the angel knew getting out of that house meant jumping from the frying pan and into the skillet that was a castle reeking with the rot of something evil, one more minute in that house and she would have gladly thrown herself into that skillet.

However, when the opportunity came to leap from the frying pan, she didn’t expect to end up in the belly of the very beast who’d swallowed her heart centuries ago, and last heard from a century’s slumber ago.

Of course. _Of course_ he would, that wily old serpent. She should have known.

Behind a thick veil, she could admit it wasn’t seeing _him_ that was the issue. It was the _timing;_ it was almost always perfect, and that’s what bothered her to no end. However, this time Crowley’s choice to show up out of the blue fit into the _almost_ category and was not what she had secretly hoped would be the next occasion they ran into each other after decades of consistently being on separate states of consciousness, which was a weird concept for angels and demons. A lonely one, too.

She wasn’t sure which part of all this was the absolute worst; Crowley bearing witness to Charles Windsor’s foul character, or that her attire was in no way a respectable contrast to her demon’s— _the_ demon, certainly not hers—new style. She couldn’t have fled that scene fast enough and by the skin of her corporation had successfully managed to keep Crowley from seeing the way his appearance boiled the blood in her face a scarlet red.

Damn that foul fiend for his dashing sense of style, which seemed to just come naturally for him. It was a _sin_ for that to have such affects on an ethereal being.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The timid gentleness of the voice in addition to the soft hand on Aziraphale’s forearm ascended her into reality with a blink and before she knew it, she was looking at two concerned green eyes on a pale thin face. How she had made it all the way from the pond to one of the halls leading to the west wing without bumping into anything while too absorbed in her own head was a miracle on its own.

Finally, Aziraphale found her voice and replied with a soft smile. “Apologies, my dear. My mind drifted a bit there. Can I help you?”

“It’s alright. I was going to ask if you needed any help with the luggage?”

Before Aziraphale replied in kind she paused and quickly wondered how the maid knew she was on her way to unpack the Windsor’s luggage when it just as quickly dawned on her that the woman had overheard Charles at the duck pond. Because of course there had to be an audience for that theatrical kind of tantrum.

Embarrassing as that may have been, the offer came from a genuine trait the woman possessed, and a place of love Aziraphale could see shining bright within her soul beyond her thin frame and natural beauty. Her eyes were warm with the ghost of crow’s feet at the corners, and Aziraphale liked to believe it was from years spent smiling through whatever life presented her. In the midst of her dark brown hair pulled tight into a neat bun peppered several silver strands. To anyone else it would have made her appear older than she was, but to Aziraphale they were a character-defining trait the angel felt intrigued by.

Angels may be two dimensional, but their ability to examine souls were as instinctual for them as breathing was to humans.

“My dear, what a wonderfully kind offer,” Aziraphale poured her affection into each word and tilted her head sweetly, “I’m sorry you had to see that. Very uncomfortable for everyone, I’m sure.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry, love.”

The angel could only nod quietly in reply.

The maid’s smile suddenly shifted from caring and concerned to amusement and mirth. She leaned in closer and gave a light squeeze to Aziraphale’s forearm playfully. “A shame you hurried away when you did.”

The blond let out a confused bubbly laugh at the odd comment. “Why’s that?”

“Shortly after you left, that matchbook he went so off trolley for caught fire! In his hand! In a _burst_ of flames, it did.”

Oh good _lord_ , Crowley….

The maid continued with a hand to her chest and sighed. “What goes around comes around, I’m a firm believer of that. And good timing too. Embarrassing himself like that in front of a member of the _Queen’s Guard_ , you can imagine how difficult that would be to brush off.”

If only she knew the sheer volume of Mr. Windsor’s bloated ego. He’d recover from—

“What did you say? Queen’s Guard?”

“Yes, mum!” The maid’s eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t know?” Aziraphale’s impression of a fish out of water was her answer, and she leaned in closer to Aziraphale’s ear even though they were the only ones in the hallway.

“I’m not entirely sure _what_ position he is, but I’ve overheard things from the staff when our Lord’s invite was accepted. They say he is an _unofficial_ member because of his _line_ of work for Her Majesty.” She then mouthed _underground_ like the walls were informants and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Queen-Mother trusts him for certain jobs too… _grizzly_ for even Scotland Yard to handle.”

 _Right_. The thought of this dark and mysterious version of Crowley running the underground slums of London as Queen Victoria’s secret mercenary, disappearing into the night with a whoosh of his cape like a bat made Aziraphale snort humorously, and immediately remembered her reaction was certainly more than a little odd to the other maid. But she couldn’t help it! The thought of her awkward, flashy demon painted in such a rogue light was…well, it was just the sort of story Crowley would create for himself.

Judging by the strange look the woman gave her, Aziraphale knew she needed to come up with a more appropriate reaction to the story, and mimicked the maid by putting a hand to her own chest in mock surprise. “My goodness, what is a man like that doing at an occasion such as this? One would think it abominable for him to make an appearance here.” Much better. And it also gave her an excuse to do a little snooping.

The brunette woman glanced around them once more, and Aziraphale briefly wondered if she should be worried about the maid’s suspicion for eavesdroppers.

“My thoughts exactly, mum. I’ve only been employed here for a week, but there’s been…odd happenings around the castle lately.” The comment suddenly piqued the angel's interest, and perhaps this maid could be of assistance with her assignment.

“Odd in what way?”

The woman chewed on her bottom lip quietly, battling with herself whether to answer.

Some soft divine persuasion would be harmless. Aziraphale placed a gentle hand on the one still placed on her forearm and gave the woman a reassuring smile, her next words carried the heavenly coercion as she whispered, “ _it’s alright, my dear. Your worries are safe with me._ ” With the way the maid’s eyes softened and her body physically relaxed, the divine influence had worked its charm; any worry in the woman’s voice melted away and she returned Aziraphale’s smile.

“Trust me, mum, I know what I’m about to say sounds completely mad, but…the staff have been hearing things. One of the cooks was down in the wine cellar one night, when it happened. He could hear _whispering_ , like it was on the back of his neck it was so close.”

As the other woman continued with her explanation, Aziraphale felt torn between a huff and a groan. _Ghosts_. Hardest entities to have a conversation with, hands down, and the angel had been confronted by some unpleasant banshees once several centuries ago, but ghosts were definitely worse. The poor things, she did feel for them; soul being exposed and all, caught in a temporary state of confusion until judgment. However, they’re constant wandering around aimlessly or meddling into things and scaring the humans got a little old after a while.

What the maid said next, however, was a little more serious.

“And the stench…. _Oh,_ it was putrid, whatever it was. Like…burning flesh or something. But it was gone so fast, we had no idea what it was….”

Aziraphale didn’t know an average ghost strong enough to conjure smells or manipulate the human brain with different aromas. A common misconception, but technically not wrong. And she could rule out vampires; while they were the literal _living dead_ , they were also very conscious about their hygiene.

But when the angel realized where her thoughts had taken her, they unveiled a very important question that had yet to be addressed.

“If I may ask, do you think Cr—the _mercenary_ ’s invitation may have been more than just for holiday?”

“I—” as soon as the maid opened her mouth she snapped it shut quickly, and finally opened it again with a pause. “…do you think that’s rather strange, too?”

The blond nodded, not having to answer what they both knew. Why would a high ranked member of the Queen’s Guard, the one who’s specialty involved handling underhanded deeds by the Queen’s order, be invited and possibly requested to investigate potential paranormal happenings?

 _Potential_ was the golden word, however.

Aziraphale silently noticed the maid’s hands wringing her apron as her attention seemed to be unfocused somewhere past the angel’s shoulder. “As I've said, I haven’t been here long, and I don’t know if mi’lord is a superstitious man but I know if he was he would have invited a priest instead of military. If mi’lord has any vengeful spirits after him, it’s not from beyond the grave.” She finished with a wink.

This was all shaping up to be _quite_ the mystery theater. And oh, did Aziraphale love a good mystery.

“I must be getting on. Much to do today!” The brunette patted the wrinkles out of her apron and made a halfway motion to leave, but suddenly paused in afterthought. “I hope mister tall, dark, and stoic knows what he’s getting himself into. M’sure he’s seen his share but…I wonder what kind of enemies a man who owns a castle _this_ big can make, y’know?”

That comment shouldn’t have felt so unsettling in Aziraphale’s stomach, but she began to feel as though a rock had landed in the pit of her stomach. _I hope so too_ , she thought.

The feeling began to grow, and the angel didn’t realize how automated her movements had been until she realized her hand had been waving at an empty hallway for seconds after the maid left once they exchanged goodbyes. An interesting woman, Aziraphale thought. Next time she would remember to get her name.

She turned and continued toward her servants quarters; a small modest room which was connected by a door to the Windsor’s guestroom. Fortunately for Aziraphale, she didn’t have to unpack luggage the _human_ way. Granted, Heaven was still particular about frivolous miracles, however she knew _damn_ well Gabriel and the rest of the archangels would snap their fingers in a heartbeat if it meant not having to pick up after themselves much less someone else.

Despite it all, miracles were miracles and rules were rules, and Aziraphale needed to appear human to some extent. Perhaps a couple hours were all she needed until the rest could be put in their proper places with a small snap of her fingers, which would barely count as a miracle. A quick break wouldn’t hurt.

It was a lengthy venture through winding hallways with various turns before she came upon the door to her room. Large, solid, smooth wisps of light and dark wood from tree Aziraphale didn’t recognize, and a large gold handle. Everything was large, solid, and luxurious in this castle, even the doors.

Once she stepped into the room and shut the door, Aziraphale let out a shoulder sagging exhale into the room, stepping slowly into the center and basking in the silence. This would be her haven; a place she could escape to and feel at peace. Once she settled in and unpacked her book bags it would feel more like home, or at least a small piece of it.

A muffled thumping, just barely on the edge of her hearing, drew her attention to the human heart drumming away in her rib cage. She raised her arm and placed a gentle hand on her chest, feeling the poor little organ working overtime all because of her nerves. She was an angel for goodness sake! A celestial being of Her divine creation made from Her love and grace. Not to mention a leader of her own platoon of heavenly soldiers! She could handle ghosts, vengeful humans…could she handle just standing by while a friend was in potential danger, however, was a good question even though said friend was a brave, wily, clever adversary who on countless occasions matched her strength and wit head on with his cunning sense of—

Whiskey. She needed whiskey.

Aziraphale took two steps back and before she could turn around her back met a solid wall, a _warm_ and definitely not a stone wall, but a very _person_ -like wall. Her corporation’s human instincts kicked in faster than her angelic ones did, and while her brain went into a fight-or-flight mode before she had the chance to control it, panic settled in with an icy sting in her lungs and prickling her skin like goose flesh.

Two strong hands grabbed her from behind by her shoulders.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, Ange—”

Aziraphale, who’s corporation suddenly decided to fight over flight, threw herself from the intruder's grip, whirled around, and the sound of an open-palmed slap echoed off the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. We can all guess who's going to be complaining about that one in the next chapter, which is nearly finished so I should hope to post it very soon! Let me know what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Next chapter: a long awaited reunion between an angel and a demon. Truths are exposed, and both gain more insight on the other's assignment.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Crowley's perspective: the long awaited reunion between an angel and a demon, and a much needed talk however chaste it always seemed to be for them. Playful banter? A thousand year old flirt-for-all is more like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I would have this chapter posted soon lol. Before I begin, I want to stress my appreciate for all the kudos, bookmarks, and comments I've received. Your feedback keeps my creativity flowing, so thank you all so much! I hope you will all appreciate this chapter, because I loved writing the interaction between Crowley and Aziraphale so much I ended up with 6K words anyway haha. 
> 
> Get ready for the fluff, and oh my god so much flirting I would say these two should get a room, but they're already in one. I hope you all enjoy!

The plan was fool proof.

Or it should have been, with how much Crowley plotted while hidden in a shaded corner waiting for the angel to wrap up whatever conversation her and the maid had been practically grabbing each other’s arms about.

Once that was over, he was in Aziraphale’s room with a quick miracle in no time at all, the roses and chocolates tucked into the inner pockets of his cape—a little designer twist he’d put in himself—practically begged for their moment in the spotlight of his angel’s beaming smile. This was finally happening; in a flurry of beautiful blond locks, she would turn and let out that scandalized gasp that never ceased to flutter his heart, and her eyes would grow alight in welcoming at the sight of him. She would swoon over the roses and make that cute little o-shape with her mouth at seeing the delectable sweets. After the spectacle at the pond, this would be the perfect way to lift her spirits.

And when Aziraphale surprised him by taking a few steps backwards and softly bumping into him, it was no matter, he was an ace improviser. Gently, he reached out with both hands and grabbed her shoulders gently to keep her from losing balance. Aziraphale secretly liked it when he assumed the role of dashing rescuer. Crowley secretly indulged it.

The _slap,_ however, was not at _all_ apart of his ingenious plan for a romantic surprise, and like a thief in the night stole what remained of any confidence Crowley had left. He wasn’t sure if it was more the surprise or the burning sting on his right cheek that forced the undignified squawk from his mouth, and he back-peddled into the door holding a gloved hand to his face with an aghast expression.

“ _Erghk…!_ Angel, what the _hell_!?”

He could practically see the gears churning in Aziraphale’s mind while she stood and silently watched his dramatic display. Her large eyes blinked at him, then looked at her hand still raised ready for another go, then back at him before finally coming to life with a loud gasp.

“Crowley!?”

“Yes _, Crowley_ , who the devil did you think it was? Why did you slap me!?” He rubbed the burning handprint.

The angel floundered for several seconds in stuttered reply, her body flinching as if to step forward but remained where she stood. “I…well, it…wait, don’t turn this on me, _you’re_ the one sneaking into rooms—”

“— _sneaking into rooms_? This is _your_ room! You knew I was coming!”

It was obvious Aziraphale had no idea what to do with herself; awkwardly shifting from rolling the fabric of her dress between fingers, wringing her hands together, folding her arms, before dropping them with a distressed sigh. “Goodness, you’re right. I don’t know what got into me, my dear. Here, let me have a look.” She finally stepped forward until she was inches from him, and Crowley gulped down the suddenly overwhelming heat of her focused attention now on him as her eyes took in the bright red handprint across his angled cheek. A soft hand covered his and gently lowered it.

Aziraphale sucked in her bottom lip in concern, and Crowley thanked _Satan_ for dark tinted lenses so she wouldn’t catch him staring.

“Looks painful.” She whispered with a tsk of her tongue.

The demon shrugged, playing off what he could salvage. “Not really,” he ignored the sting of his cheek in protest, “though remind me not to piss you off.” He meant it as a lighthearted compliment, but it only served to deepen the concern in her blue gaze.

“Here, allow me.” Before he could protest the right side of his face engulfed in a warm light so comforting, he couldn’t quite put it into words. The stinging of fevered skin faded away in seconds time, leaving only the slightest flush on his cheekbones which would take more than a miracle to go away if Aziraphale kept looking at him so engrossingly. When the warm light disappeared, the angel squinted her eyes and hummed at the work she did.

“Oh, don’t look so put out.” Aziraphale tutted.

It was _his_ face; he’d pout if he wanted to. “…you’ve never slapped me before.” Okay, so he wanted to bask in his angel’s affection for a little while longer. It was her fault for enabling him so much.

“I told you it wasn’t intentional,” his pout faded under the intensity of hers, “do forgive me, you know I’d never raise a hand to—”

“No harm done, Angel. I was only teasing.” Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s buzzing nerves and knew not to push too hard when she got like this. It wasn’t the slap that caused this either, and that didn’t sit well with him.

Crowley motioned to turn his head, and it was then both angel and demon realized their intimately close proximity to one another, and the gentle weight of her cupped hand stayed rested on the side of his sharp jaw. Immediately they both scrambled away with Crowley bumping into the door and thankfully Aziraphale not noticing as her attention flew about the room to find something worth staring at. When they finally found their target, blond eyebrows jumped with a spark of interest.

“…what is that?”

Crowley hummed at her question, then followed her train of sight to the inside of his cape; a floral burst of red peeking out behind the bend of his elbow. If he were to open his mouth and speak words, it would not have been in any understandable language.

“Uh…,” he came this far, “…ah, flowers—roses. They were….” Enough of this. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. Carefully, he reached in and unveiled the bouquet from his pocket and pulled the chocolates out of the other pocket. He slowly raised them up, keeping his eyes on the flowers and away from the angel’s reaction.

“I went t’see you, at the bookshop, before I took the job. Just woke up and all, so thought I’d go there first.” Why was talking suddenly so difficult. “You weren’t there, so…,” he trailed off with a shrug.

“So, you held onto them?” Crowley loved it when she could finish his sentence, and the room wasn’t big enough for all the raw appreciation and tenderness she flooded into it. If he hadn’t caught fire from the direct exposure to her heavenly glow by now, that was saying something.

He extended the gifts out toward her, and she took them lovingly into her arms with a grateful hum. She bent her head down and delicately sniffed the floral aroma with a fluttered shut of her eyes only briefly.

“They’re lovely, Crowley. Thank you.” She beamed up at him.

Crowley scowled. “Egh, don’t say _that_.” He shook off the thanks like it was water on his coat.

“Let me find a vase for them.” She turned around, and by finding she meant the sudden existence of a glass vase full of water on the table near the window. Crowley walked further into the room observing the little details here and there. It was lavish by servant standards with a small living area as well as a bed in the corner of the room with a generous amount of furniture for storage. The castle certainly had enough space for luxury, but it spoke in volume of the type of accommodations that were given here during guest stays. Crowley could only imagine what _his_ room looked like.

“So, Hell assigned you to this case as well, I take it?” Aziraphale’s curious tone caught the demon’s attention, and he twirled his cane around absentmindedly and leaned against the nearest wall.

“Depends on our individual assignments.” He watched her nod in agreement, then continued, “I got this _specifically_ requested to me by Beelzebub. Could’a turned it down, too. Got a handsome amount of time off as a reward for my recent achievements.” The smug tone just came with the gloating, he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t have to look at Aziraphale to know she was looking at him suspiciously. “What achievement? Sleeping for a hundred years?”

That time he did turn to look at her just to see her reaction, and smirked. “Polluting the atmosphere with toxic fumes from the expansion of industrial production, exposing the humans to tainted water and poisonous gases.” Oh, it sounded positively demonic, but nothing he would ever come up with.

And Aziraphale knew it immediately with a scoff and a roll of her eyes. “ _Of_ _course_ you did. Why am I not surprised. And let me guess, the humans powerlessly fell prey to your demonic temptations?”

“They never stood a chance.” Crowley smirked. Satan below did he miss this, miss him— _her_ for the moment, respectively.

Aziraphale couldn’t hide a smirk of her own as she flashed him a _look._ “And I’m to believe that _this_ ,” the millisecond flicker of her eyes up and down his tall frame did _not_ go unnoticed, “Queen’s military _bloodhound_ façade is not a demonstration of your power strutting about in front of Hell?”

The angel was too much fun to playfully banter with, and—wait, what?

“Queen’s _what_?”

“Now you’re just being cheeky.”

“No no, I’m serious. What did you call me?” Dammit, he should have read that character profile. Where was everyone getting these dog references?

Aziraphale opened her mouth to retort, but fell short as she suddenly realized something with a tilt of her head and narrowed eyes. She leaned on one hip and observed Crowley’s genuine oblivious stare.

“You didn’t read the job description, did you?”

“Only the important parts—”

“ _Crowley._ ”

“I’m supposed to document demonic activity and file it away, that’s it. That’s the job. Didn’t seem like I needed to read too hard into it!”

Aziraphale looked positively astonished. “So you have _no_ idea who you’re supposed to be or what you’re looking for, then?”

Her answer was a flap of his long arms and a shrug, and the blond sighed dramatically and shifted her weight to the other hip. Maybe it had to do with the change in corporation, but Crowley never could recall Aziraphale being so… _hippy_ with her stance. Yes, the angel’s body language was always a gateway to her emotions, but he had begun noticing certain habits she didn’t have before in her male body. It allowed his eyes to travel down her soft shapely curves appreciatively.

“What about you, _Goodie Two-Shoes_. Read your entire file hard enough to correct the grammar, did you?” He shot back.

“We both know Michael is horrible with punctuation.” Aziraphale reminded primly but relented. “But yes. Unlike you, _I_ care about the details.”

“Don’t remind me, I’ve written some of your reports, remember? You’re too wordy.” Crowley hissed with a small waggle of his forked tongue. He pushed himself off the wall and strolled over to the reading chair near the bed and plopped down in a flurry of long limbs and black cape, setting his cane between his knees with a hand draped lazily over the top, one elbow slung over the arm.

“So what’s your assignment about then?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment. She motioned closer to Crowley, her fingers running over the wooden trim of the small couch between them. “You know it’s funny, I’ve read the assignment several times and the context was rather vague. I mean, for reasons I have yet to figure out, I was instructed to look after the Windsor family over the summer.”

Crowley scratched his chin in thought. “That’s it?” She nodded, and he continued. “That does seem a tad vague for your lot.”

“Agreed. It’s no coincidence that whatever foul presence is giving off that awful aura has something to do with why I was tasked for looking after them.”

Makes sense. Crowley rolled his head to his shoulder and scowled. “Stuck playing _Guardian Angel_ , huh?”

Her sigh mirrored his scowl. “Afraid so.” Crowley twitched his upper lip and made a displeased sound. He watched her silently, taking in every gentle blink of her long eyelashes kissing her porcelain cheeks, the way her body seemed to relax into the peacefulness of the comforting silence that fell over them. He wondered….

“S’that why you look like that?” He nodded toward her physique. It took Aziraphale only two seconds to register what he meant, then looked down at herself before glancing back at him. Her arms moved across her body, as if out of nowhere becoming strangely _bashful_ with the sort of body language that hinted self-conscious. He hated when she did that.

“Oh, _this_? Well, I suppose it…,” oh no, her chin was doing that little wobbly thing, “you…you don’t like it?”

Didn’t like it? Crowley wanted to throw himself at her dainty little feet and _worship_ it. But he always secretly worshiped Aziraphale’s body since the moment they met; it symbolized the angel’s comfort, and what _he_ or _she_ liked. It was just the _she_ part of it all was exciting, and well…new. It was change, and those two words scarcely ever fit into his angel’s vocabulary.

“No-I mean _yes_ , or…argh! I didn’t say I didn’t _like_ it, Angel. Iss’justa quesstion.” Great, now he’s hissing. Perfect time for his body to start failing on him.

“I… _Idolikeit_ …” he hoped Aziraphale understood that, because he was _not_ repeating himself. Fortunately for him, she did and with a relieved smile she wiggled triumphantly.

“That’s good, then,” she said proudly, “I put a lot of work into this body. I liked to think I did a top-notch job on the old girl.” She laughed. Top-notch was an understatement.

“Glad it’s working for you,” the demon remarked with a trace of mockery in his voice when the thought suddenly dawned on him as to why she had put so much effort into her new look, and he couldn’t help his streak of pettiness when the reason didn’t have to do with _him_. “Only the best for those stuffy pigeons upstairs.”

“What are you talking about, my dear?”

Must he have to explain? It was torture. “Sticklers, the lot of them. Probably regulated every inch down to your shoe size.”

“You think Heaven is the reason I chose this?” The earnest tone in her voice almost grabbed his attention but he held strong.

“Why else?”

“ _Well…_.” _That_ tone was rare. So, Crowley tested the waters with no reply and watched from the corner of his eye as she shifted her posture once more, fingertips dancing along her tummy nervously.

“You could say I sort of... gained inspiration from a seemingly unlikely place.”

“ _Really_ ,” Crowley stretched the _e_ a little too long, “well tell me, where did such inspiration come from, oh holier than thou?” Sleeves ruffled as he rolled his wrist in an inviting manner, lifting his arm up theatrically.

Crowley waited for the punchline, and when he was met with silence he turned to Aziraphale with a quizzical look. The look he was getting in return turned his throat dry. Those full lips pursed in what could be the most adorable attempt to hide a smirk Crowley had ever seen, blue eyes gleamed with confidence ready to match him wit-for-wit. Her eyebrow quirked gracefully, and there was something to be said when an eyebrow could appear graceful. All of this on a beautifully round and composed face and it did _torturous_ things to Crowley’s heart.

He knew that look was his answer, yet his words just couldn’t keep up. The demon opened his mouth, and choked up a, “oh-erg…ngh, y’mean _me_?” Though Crowley would take it to the grave with him before admitting this word, he was _blessed_ with having an angel friend. This spark of sentiment was proven wonderfully relevant when Aziraphale burst into giggles at her own sense of humor, deflecting what otherwise would have been Crowley sputtering in circles like a broken record player.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale’s giggling was nearing a fit, and Crowley would be lying if he hadn’t noticed the way her breasts were dancing to the beat of her laughter. A second too long and he could have been caught as the angel suddenly gazed at him with a warm expression. “Silly old serpent, who did you think I was talking about?”

Oh, she was talking about him. Damn fleshy human brain was taking the day off, it seemed.

“Well… seemed a bit arrogant to assume, is all.” A good deflection.

But not good enough for his clever angel, who shifted her frame to lean on one curvy hip and that damn graceful eyebrow quirk was back. “Do try to keep up, dear. It’s hard enough having to speak in riddles around each other constantly.”

Sirens blared in Crowley’s head, and he immediately decided he was not ready to unpack that statement. Snake instincts needed to kick in now and serpentine out of this conversation train before it spiraled off the rails, and that was all it took for Crowley to suddenly stand up abruptly, wrapping long gloved fingers around his cane as he straightened to full height. It was enough to startle Aziraphale out of what had been an expectant look for something completely out of reach for them both, to a now wide-eyed expression.

“Crowley?” Her tone was gentle, and it helped to extinguish some of the growing heat in his body. The logical part of Crowley’s brain reminded him of his inevitable exit, either from the conversation or this room he was not sure, and the rational part agreed. But the selfish part, which was so encouraged in Hell one couldn’t call it a temptation, wanted to know more about his influence on the angel. Just what was it that made Aziraphale decide to try out the other gender and singlehandedly pulled off being the most gorgeous woman his eyes had ever seen and had taken the remaining chunk of his heart he still had left as if it was the last bite of cake on his plate.

No matter what Aziraphale looked like, his angel would always be the most gorgeous being in existence, and Crowley hated how much he loved it, loathed at how he didn’t have it, seethed at _why_ he couldn’t have the one thing he would trade the stars and space and time and everything in between for. Somewhere, some part of him knew that Aziraphale knew all of this, and dare he say it, felt the same from an angelic perspective he fell too deep to ever genuinely understand again; a reality viciously turned into a memory, for which later fogged into a dream-like remembrance at best. They were two ducks in an enormous pond wading aimlessly across the water, allowing the currents beneath to carry them to the next direction where the rhymes or reasons didn’t seem worth—

“—my dear, are you waxing poetry about ducks in your head again?”

Crowley blinked. “Yes.”

“You did say I could confront you if I caught you in the act. They’re too time consuming and puts you in a funk, you’re words not mine.” Aziraphale tutted, and it took Crowley a good three seconds to realize he must have been caught up in his head longer than he thought when the angel was no longer standing in front of him, but had time to prepare two glasses of what he assumed was tea, but more hopeful it was whiskey.

Crowley watched as she set the tray down on the coffee table and scuffled around to one end of the small sofa . With a little shuffle of her dress she plopped down in a plume of blue and cream. She wiggled once, twice, and finally settled in comfortably. It was an unspoken invitation to join her, and his legs carried him over to sit on the other end of the sofa, his drink suddenly in his hand and already to his lips with a quick swipe at the liquid with the end of his forked tongue. Damn his pavlovian responses. But ah, whiskey. He could kiss that unflappable angel.

It was time to listen to the selfish part of his brain. With one long leg thrown over the other, he leaned back comfortably into the plushness of the cushion. His head leaned back a bit in thought, elbow rested on the arm of the sofa and softly sloshed his drink around in the glass. “You never explained why I inspired you to work this assignment as a woman?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale shifted slightly, blinking at Crowley once before she quickly replied with a small shrug of her shoulder. “You’ve done it before, on several occasions. At times I worry that it would be, well…” her lips pulled to one side as she thought carefully about her next words, “…I do hope this won’t come across as lazy, but there are points throughout human history where being a female seems like more work.”

Crowley snorted, and if Aziraphale was any more of a bastard she would have reached over and smacked him for it. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like _that._ ” He raised his hands up in surrender, but the smirk stayed where it was. Aziraphale continued despite the blush creeping up her pale neck. “There have been some time periods where being one gender or another requires more, well, legwork. Depending on the tasks we are assigned from our respective offices, they often need to rely on the strengths of a specific gender. At the very least it makes the job easier.”

“It’s a valid point, I’ll admit.” Crowley toasted his glass up in solute, and as he moved for a sip he asked, “so what’s that got to do with me?”

Had he of seen this next part coming sooner, Crowley wouldn’t have at that moment decided to take a bigger sip of whiskey. Aziraphale set her drink on her lap, hands gripping it like a warm mug of cocoa. Her eyes watched the brown liquid, but the demon could tell she wasn’t seeing anything past what was taking place in her mind, and whatever it was placed a gentle, loving smile on her lips.

“…in those moments when I started to worry or think something may have happened to you, a _victim of the times_ as I’ve heard it called, you always found a way to prove me wrong.”

Whiskey up the nose, Crowley could handle. Whiskey going down the wrong pipe burned like what he imagined breathing in holy water felt like. He lowered his drink to the table after a few poorly controlled coughs and stared wide-eyed at the angel.

If Aziraphale noticed, she didn’t make it noticeable. “You always held yourself with such strength and confidence in this gender, no matter what obstacle laid ahead of you, some specifically because of…of how you looked. But you never appeared to let it bother you— in fact, it was as if it empowered you to keep going, and it made me wonder just what was there to worry about? Why not give it a try?”

Each word raised Crowley’s temperature one degree hotter, and now he felt as if he was about to ignite the whole sofa to flames, burn down the whole establishment and everything within a five-mile radius. He was a demon; he didn’t _empower_ others. And he surely wasn’t capable of enough confidence to impress an _angel_. No, no, none of these words should have ever been strung together to form a compliment _for someone like him_. An angel, admitting they were _wrong_ to a demon? It was blasphemy, even Crowley knew it. He had to stop this. Burn these words that were never meant to be uttered from beautiful angelic lips.

He should flip the table.

He should lash out.

He should take Aziraphale by her shoulders and shake her silly, should demand she take those words back and painfully remind him that he shouldn’t deserve an inch of recognition like that, and he never would.

He should show her why it was a horrible idea to praise someone of _his_ kind. Foolish, naïve little angel, he should spit at her, and open her eyes to her own blind actions.

He did none of those things. But what he did in turn was enough to close the topic of discussion on terms best suited for the both of them. Without another word between the two, Crowley’s lips lifted into a smile rarer than any gem in the world, one only reserved for the most important person in his existence. He could have easily blamed the squeak he heard as the wood frame of the sofa bending under their shared weight, but it was more fun to say it came from his angel, whose now scarlet cheeks a telltale sign of the effects that smile had on her. Always a nice treat.

It was then that Aziraphale leaned across the short space between them, as if she were about to let out a rather ripe bit of juicy gossip plucked straight from a scandalous grapevine, and her body leaned with her in all the right places. Her shoulders scrunched, one hand splayed out on the space between them to support her lean, or to support the lean of her breasts, which were being rudely distracting should he mention, and a sight so tempting he only wished he could spare a second longer to gaze upon those creamy mounds—

“ _Ms. Fell!”_ Came a knock and a shout beyond the door, startling both angel and demon almost out of their seats and out of their corporations. Crowley trained his eyes to stay on Aziraphale, and Aziraphale mimicked the same, save for a slight drop of her head and a tired yet somewhat forlorn sigh escaping her petite nose.

“Yes, Mrs. Windsor?” her voice rang, a perfect mask of delight and interest so well paced Crowley could easily tell she had learned from many years’ experience. Only briefly, he questioned why that small observation caused such a ruckus in his chest.

 _“Have you prepared Charles’ suit for tonight? The party starts in three hours.”_ It was barely a question and almost entirely a bark. Eh, humans could be needlessly nasty, and Crowley had his share of run ins with some that could make Dagon look _saintly_. He shrugged it off.

Or, at least he tried to. Until Aziraphale’s ocean blue eyes grew large enough to drown in.

“Oh… _shit_.”

And in one swift leap, Aziraphale was off the sofa and scurrying around the room, picking up various items only to place them somewhere else, throwing towels over her shoulder with a high pitched, “yes, my lady! Will have it ready in moments time!”

 _“See to it that it does, Ms. Fell. I’ve little patience today and I will not waste what I have left of it.”_ The floorboards vibrated with the sounds of her footfalls retreating down the hallway. In the brief period of silence that followed, Crowley silently gaped at the frantic angel wondering only for a second if his hat had been lined with lead ink and he was going mad.

Aziraphale turned to him with a finger pointed straight at him before he could even finish the thought.

“Not a word—” she whispered.

“Is taking orders from obnoxious cows’ part of this new assignment?” He hissed back defiantly.

“Not…well, it was definitely implied—don’t change topics on me, Crowley,” Aziraphale wasn’t even looking at him at this point, too occupied with running around the room with a pile of miscellaneous belongings too high to see over. It would have been cute if the situation had been fitting, but Crowley could not focus past the bitter taste on his tongue. Something foul. It tasted like…ah, _distaste_ ; acidic with an almost chemical-like burn at the end, it sat on his tongue which forced the demon to bite the inside of his cheek from opening his mouth and letting it pour into the room.

Instead, he waited until the angel fluttered just close enough to him to strike, and with demonic speed his fingers found their prey and wound tight around a pale wrist, coiling inward and pulling her to the side. For a split second it appeared Aziraphale was going to lose her balance but caught herself with a firm step. The mountain of chores she was holding, sadly, did not make it and tumbled to the floor around her.

A loud gasp brought Crowley’s attention upward until he looked directly at the angel’s face, locking her into a serpent’s stare. Thousands of years dancing around each other had prepared Aziraphale for these moments, or at least Crowley hoped it did. One wrong move, and she would be lost to his demonic whims.

If he had any demonic whims, that is. Which he didn’t.

With only a ghost of a stutter he realized he may have tugged her rougher than he intended to, as a few stray locks of curly blond hair found their way out of the braid and trickled down her flushed cheeks, to curve around her invitingly biteable neck….

Perhaps it was Crowley who would make that wrong move and lose himself to her.

Aziraphale’s expressions flickered from alarm to indignation until she finally settled on exasperation before attempting to speak. Crowley could hear her human heart thundering in it’s now too small cage.

“What are you…?”

“I don’t like this.” It was out of his mouth before he had time to catch it, and he wasn’t sure where the sudden gravely tone had come from either. His fingers squeezed in emphasis, hoping he wouldn’t have to say much to get his point across. Unfortunately, Aziraphale had a knack for drawing out every painful syllable as if they were pieces to a thousand-count puzzle and wanted to observe the entire picture. Damn his angel’s big brain sometimes.

Her soft face scrunched into a scowl, brows narrowed and eyes now a stormy gray. It was the most breathtaking sight he'd ever laid eyes on, in his mind comparing it to that of watching a storm roll in from the distance.

“I’m sorry it’s not to your _liking,_ Crowley. Sometimes you do things you don’t like just to accomplish the task. I thought out of everyone, _you_ would know what that’s like.”

Hearing her say those words, Crowley wanted to recoil. That wasn’t how he’d meant to say it, dammit, and he found himself desperate to clarify. But the bitter tang on his tongue had yet to subside, burning his mouth with its pungent sting. He knew he couldn’t stop now.

“So that makes it wrong to not like it? Are you listening to yourself? Stupid…” he never meant for that word to be directed at Aziraphale, so when his fingers felt the twitch of her body as she tried to hide the flinch in her expression, his brain and heart malfunctioned altogether, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, he chose to fly blind on emotion.

“…stupid of them to not see what you are capable of.” Suddenly it felt as if a rock had flown into his mouth and lodged itself in his throat. His teeth clenched together, and the words still made it through. “They’re fools if they don’t see how clever you are…how talented. You could work _miracles_ around those archangels _,_ the _wankers_.” Hell was notorious for giving out what was known as _Short End of the Stick_ assignments hidden within batches of work orders. Luck of the draw, and someone ended up with clogging sewer pipes to sabotage a city or town’s sanitation system. He shivered at the memory of coming dangerously close to orchestrating Pompeii. Thankfully, Hastur’s luck had been even worse than Crowley’s that day and as a result spent a couple centuries trapped in his corporation which had been petrified alive in the hardened volcanic ash.

But for _angels_ to be no better than their fallen counterparts? Despicable. Aziraphale should have had proper instructions, encouraged to have the nicer more necessary tools to ensure she didn’t have to work in degrading conditions. Less restrictions on miracles would be a nice start.

“Crowley…”

“Don’t, Angel.” He had to cut her off, because if he had to listen to that voice so torn and exposed, he would dig his own grave and lay in it. Regret briefly creeped into existence, wanting to remove the hand locked onto the angel’s wrist and turn tail through the door, as if this encounter never happened. What Crowley wouldn’t sacrifice right then and there if he could live the rest of his eternal life without seeing those full pink lips tremble, vibrant blue eyes fading to the dim hue of obedience.

Aziraphale tried again. “I…I can’t…if I don’t do as I’m—”

“Don’t you _dare_ finish that sentence.” Something snapped, he was sure he heard it, and realized too late it was the last of his resolve like a piano wire pulled too tight. His hold on Aziraphale’s wrist clamped down as he rose to full height, soundlessly, towering over until he engulfed her frame within his shadow. Fangs elongated on each corner of the demon’s lips, the tips peeking out just barely. The whites of Crowley’s eyes were long gone by this point, replaced with smoldering molten.

Crowley wasn’t sure exactly when his other arm had wrapped around Aziraphale’s right shoulder, long fingers splayed across her back and pulled her almost flush against his chest, the hand wrapped around her wrist moved, fingers dancing along her pulse, up the grooves and lines on her palm, finally stopping when gloved fingers threaded through smaller, warmer ones.

The serpent in him wanted to curl every inch of himself to the warmth that emanated from the angel’s plush frame, the softness quickly becoming an addiction. If he didn’t stop now, he would take everything he wanted and more from the angel mere seconds away from collapsing in his arms with the way her knees trembled. Aziraphale, now holding onto him as firmly as he was to her, held her head up to meet his gaze and he almost lost it then and there. No trace of fear, not an inch of uncertainty, but damn if her eyes did not betray the purest display of affection when she took in every detail of his face.

“Oh, _Crowley_ …” her eyes searched his through dark lenses, her calming blue washing over his molten fury until what the demon said next came out more of a gentle rumble than an enraged growl.

“ _No one_ should ever tell an angel how fast to go, or how slow… especially from humans. Just because _they_ require you play a female servant to get the job done, it shouldn’t be at the cost of your own respect or well-being, Angel. Even a demon knows that.”

“Yes, well it—wait, I never told you Gabriel required I change gender for this role, how did you—”

“You just did.”

Aziraphale was the clever one usually, but Crowley had his moments. He liked to think he knew the angel so well after all these millennia that he could take a blind guess and still be right. That, and one sure fire way of getting the angel riled up was to point out the underlying truths in her stories. Crowley would die before calling her a liar, but she did have a tendency of leaving crucial bits of detail out of her stories. To know she felt inspired by him was a compliment undeserving for a demon, and he knew she was honest, but the line between not sharing unimportant details and not admitting to hurtful truths was very blurred for Aziraphale.

Matching his smug grin with a rather hearty pout, Aziraphale tugged herself out of his grip and took a step back, crossing her arms and giving a very pointed look.

“…fine, you’re right,” there it was, “but that doesn’t make my earlier comments untrue.”

“Of course not, Angel.”

“Alright, then.”

“Agreed.”

“Right.”

“Quite.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause before they both broke into soft laughter, and any tension that was there prior disappeared. Aziraphale relaxed her arms to wring her hands timidly, and Crowley looked away in thoughtful amusement, silently appreciating these hidden away instances where it was just the two of them on the empty stage of a world with no opposing sides, responsibilities, or constant threats. Here, he could share a genuine laugh with his best friend and feel as light as a feather.

It was a shame how fleeting these moments were.

Aziraphale cleared her throat softly, glancing up at him with a now sober look. Her mouth opened and Crowley didn’t need to hear the words to already know what she was about to say. He’d spare them both the disappointment; time had slipped by them in a blink of an eye yet again.

With a tip of his hat, Crowley nodded and squared his shoulders. He took one last hard look at the angel and sighed. “I better hear more about this _requirement_ from Gabriel the next time we talk. I’m not done with that topic.”

An exasperated sigh was his reply. “Not sure why, but alright.” Yet it wasn’t exasperated enough.

“And do give Charles my regards. A freak matchbook fire accident doesn’t happen every day.”

“Crowley _, really!_?” Ah, that’s better. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes. A little fun in all the drear and melancholy was healthy for the immortal soul.

“Aziraphale….” The sudden serious tone was sobering, and the angel’s pout faded as she watched his tall frame slip around her, close enough to coil, and paused a few steps from the exit before turning halfway to face her. He needed to hurry before he begged her to let him stay, even for a few minutes more, because he was weak and wouldn’t think twice about it.

“Take care of yourself.”

He half expected her to blush or nervously laugh in that cute way of hers. What he got instead made him want to melt; that smile would warm his cold blood on the loneliest nights for centuries to come.

A tight-lipped smile was his farewell gesture, and Crowley knew he needed to leave before any guests made it to their rooms. It would be difficult explaining why his character was found in a maid’s personal quarters, and humans loved any bit of gossip they could get their grubby hands on.

But before Crowley could reach the handle, the door suddenly swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's not good.
> 
> From here on, we'll be jumping into the plot and unveiling more secrets, mysteries, and scandal. Next Chapter: an extravagant dinner party and an aristocratic Lord with the creepiest castle in Wales. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, and thank you for reading!!


	5. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interim just before the dinner party, and Crowley sees a new side of Aziraphale he's never seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so touched by all the feedback I got from the last chapter. Your comments were wonderful ~(^.^)~ Yet again, I am writing more than expected. This small part became lengthy before I realized it, so I hope everyone enjoys this quick chapter before we dive into the plot!

As the self-proclaimed Father of Insurance, Crowley always believed in backup plans; one always needed a safety net when treading on the edge of danger. It was surprising to the serpent how that one little fact about him often went unacknowledged, and perhaps that had to do with all the bragger and bravado he bled into every report to Hell. Because if conspiring with a sworn enemy for thousands of years had taught Crowley anything, it was to always expect the unexpected, and plan for the worst fallback. Any cockup needed to have a failsafe.

So when the door to Aziraphale’s room swung open seconds before his hand had yet to grace the handle, he was already prepared to launch plan B. The tricky part of this was understanding what plan B _was_ in those crucial seconds. A wandering maid? No problem. A disgruntled master? Emergency demonic manipulation would do the trick.

A surprise drop-in from either of their individual office heads? A complete fucking nightmare.

All very plausible, and just on the other end of the doorframe. However, when Crowley was met with empty space he quickly realized this was not one of the expected circumstances he braced for.

That is, until he lowered his head and came face to face with a tiny human. A tiny human girl. A tiny human girl no bigger than the height of his thigh and possibly the width too.

Silence settled into the room louder than the final creak from the door’s hinges, exposing within to the outside and Crowley despised the way it made his bones ache with anxiety. What happened next should have been alive with sound and activity commonly associated with young human offspring. Instead, with a plum of powder-white fabric and lace bows, an exuberant burst of chestnut brown curls, and a face dwarfed by impossibly large blue eyes scanned the room like a lost lamb in search for her flock.

Yet when those ocean eyes glanced past Crowley and onto Aziraphale, her reaction was instant; tears pooled and threatened to spill over her long lashes as her bottom lip pouted and wobbled in an attempt to hold off a rather powerful sob.

“Ms. Fell!” With a burst of movement, the child rushed forward and the pitter-patter of her tiny feet against the floor could be heard in her dash past Crowley, as if he was just another piece of lounge furniture. The speed in which she launched herself at Aziraphale was impressive, and even more impressive was when the blond angel leaned down, opened her arms, and caught her in a single fluid motion. She wrapped the small child in a warm embrace, and the child in turn wrapped her stubby little arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, burying her head in the side of the angel’s neck.

“Oh, my sweet darling, whatever is the matter?” Aziraphale _cooed,_ and it nearly throttled Crowley’s heart.

After several seconds of hiccupped sobs, they heard the timid reply. “…Charlie threw a frog at me.” She turned her head shyly, brown curls tucked against her maid’s shoulder and framed a very young face blotched with pink and cheeks wet with tear trails. The red of her puffy eyes magnified the blue of her irises.

Crowley twitched. He didn’t mind kids, not at all, but this little girl had Aziraphale in the palm of her hand the moment she turned on the waterworks.

Well played, little one.

The angel tutted gently. “My word, a _frog_? What were the two of you getting into, my dear?” She gently rocked the small child with a soft swivel of her hips, which seemed to coax the child from sobs to sniffles. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, muffling her words behind a tiny fist. “We were p-playing...he said I can’t be a knight b'cus I was a girl. A-And when I said princess, Ch-Charlie said I had t'kiss a frog. N’then he threw it at me.”

Aziraphale pulled the little girl forward to look at her and placed a comforting hand on her back and motioned soothingly. “How _awful_ , you poor thing,” what the hell was Crowley watching right now, “sounds like it was not fun for you or the little frog too.”

Her little head nodded with a bounce of curls.

“And that is no way to treat a Princess of the Round Table!”

Shock and awe sparkled across her youthful face, teary eyes large and vibrant with life. She finally registered the words and nodded, or more like bobbled, her head back and forth. Little hands reached out and gripped Aziraphale’s round-cut collar, and it was tender, and it was like rolling around in a cloud, or dancing across lush green hills and singing to the top of your lungs, and for a moment Crowley thought he was being exorcised by all the damn bloody _love_ in this room.

A demon’s soul could only take so much after a while, and call Crowley a masochist but most demons couldn’t take this amount of torture for so long, yet he just kept coming back like a moth to a flame.

He had to get out of this room, he couldn’t breathe; to be frank, he didn’t _need_ to, yet he _couldn’t_. His heart was plotting a prison break out of his chest. Yes, he should leave now. Crowley turned, and didn’t hear the hastily approaching stomps of someone sprinting through the hall, and damn near collided with a young human boy no taller than the demon’s waist, and he almost hit the door barely avoiding the kid’s wild entrance.

“She’s lying, whatever she says it’s a lie!” Tousled dark brown hair fell forward as the boy put his hands on his knees and panted. “I never threw a frog at her, Miss, I swear!”

“Yes, you did!” The innocent teary-eyed pout quickly vanished and out came a tiny scowl better suited for a miffed kitten. She turned on the boy with an accusatory point of her chubby finger, eyes suddenly ignited by hot coals of righteous fury. “You did, you fat liar!”

“ _You’re_ the liar!” The boy stood and folded his arms under the bowknot of his dark blue sailor jacket, shifting his feet to look more grounded, and Crowley took in the boy’s appearance from his knobby-knee high socks to the vibrant hazel of his eyes. The demon had seen countless children throughout history and never truly understood why grown humans dressed their children in such odd fashions. He looked like a tiny navy soldier. Crowley couldn’t help but snort and motion his cane forward just enough to nearly touch the boy’s jacket.

“Oi lad, there’s a frog in your pocket.”

The boy remained completely still, as if he didn’t hear him. The burst of red on his face and on the tips of his ears said otherwise. A tempered puff of his cheeks shortly followed when Aziraphale tipped her head and gave the boy a disapproving look.

“ _Charlie,_ throwing frogs at your sister is ungentlemanly of you.”

Charlie looked as though he wanted to hold his ground longer, but Crowley had been on the receiving end of those looks before, and he already knew the boy wouldn’t last much longer.

Point proven, as Charlie finally relaxed his stance and kicked his foot against the ground. His eyes lowered to his muddy brown shoes, embarrassed. “Yes, Miss. You’re right. But she…!” He threw a lanky finger at his sister with enough fury to match her stubby one. “She said I couldn’t be a knight because only men can be knights and I’m just a little boy, and, and shesaiditinfronatheotherboyswholaughed—!”

“Steady on, my dear.” Aziraphale raised a gentle hand before he turned frantic, and casted her eyes down to the little girl in her arms. “Maurielle, we do not say mean things just because our feelings are hurt.” A snort from the far side of the room had the angel’s eyes snapping up to glare at Crowley for a split second before turning her attention back to the small girl’s guilty expression.

“Now,” Aziraphale said gently yet demanding enough to grab both children’s attention, “surely my brave Princess and manliest Knight can overcome their differences before supper?” The children nodded their heads in quiet unison. The angel nodded in kind. “Very good. It would be a right shame if all of Miss Fell’s prized apple tarts went to other good little boys and girls.” Their alarmed reactions were instant, and Crowley made a note to follow up on those prized apple tarts.

Maurielle and Charlie shook their heads almost clean off their necks, and it was enough of a sight to throw Aziraphale into a fit of sweet giggles. “That’s what I thought.” She leaned down and placed the little girl on her two tiny feet, then placed her hands on her curvy hips. “Run along, my dears. I have plenty to do here before dinner. I expect hands and faces washed by six o’clock sharp. Not a spec of dirt behind the ears or under the nails, is that clear?”

“Yes, mum!” Both children cried.

Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley guffawed.

Charlie stretched his arm and offered a hand to his little sister. “C'mon, Maurielle.” And dutifully, she turned and rushed to take her older brother’s hand. Her sudden intense stare directed at Crowley did not go unnoticed, as if it was even possible to ignore the weight of naïve curiosity threatening to make even a serpent squirm. The closer she came the more her head tilted up to keep from breaking the stare which climbed from the point of his black leather boots to the top of his hat. Being sized up by a human a micro-fraction of his age and size was not on Crowley’s itinerary today, that was for sure.

And it was very obvious these two were siblings with the sudden additional weight of the older boy’s vibrant hazel-eyed gaze. Unlike his sisters, there was a spark of a challenge in Charlie’s stare and a sense of protectiveness for others one would think too wise for a boy his age to possess.

And suddenly the children were no longer in the room, leaving a sputtering demon and an exasperated angel to make sense of everything.

A beat of silence.

“…well, that was a thing.” Crowley mumbled with an awkward shift of his feet. Turning his head from the open doorway he began to inquire with a soft scratch of his head just underneath the brim of his top hat. “Since when do you coddle children the way you coddle your books…?” Thin eyebrows climbed up his forehead at the new look on Aziraphale’s round face. Her lovingly fond gaze extended farther than the realm of the four walls around them, lost in a world of daisy-picking and pastries and everything she loved in between; a smile he often wished she would give him that didn’t include using his own imagination and ridiculous fantasies.

“Angel?”

“Hm?” She replied, but it didn’t falter her beautiful smile.

“Mind if I ask…?” He motioned to the door in reference to the children. With a long breathy sigh, Aziraphale glanced at Crowley slowly and patted her hands against the sides of her apron. “That, my dear, is what makes this assignment worth taking on.”

“Ah,” Crowley nodded, unsure what to say. Thankfully, the angel carried on. “Maurielle Windsor. At only five, her vocabulary is _outstanding_. And Charles Windsor the Second, eleven and the heir to the Windsor Estate.” She paused, and finally met eyes with Crowley. “I like to believe they are the ones Heaven specifically assigned me to watch over.”

Crowley remained quiet, absorbing every word the angel had to say.

“…I know what you must think of this.”

“Do you, now?” Crowley responded distantly. He stepped slowly toward the doorway.

There a was a pause before the angel replied quietly, and more subdued than what the demon was comfortable with hearing from his angel. She opened her mouth, and it was obvious she deflected the topic when her eyes shifted to the far-left wall in defeat, smile gone and shoulders slack.

Aziraphale almost looked guilty, for what Crowley was certain she had little to no control over but carried the heaviest burden of responsibility, nonetheless.

“…nothing will happen to them. Not like…not like back then...”

Though their immortal lives were immune to the endless passage of time and the changes that came with it, neither demon nor angel would ever forget certain events of the past. Like a roll of aged film, Crowley watched flashes of raging water in his memory’s eye; humans screaming, faces contorted in fear and desperation. The smell of wet wood drifted in and out of his nose, the dank air of the lower levels of the giant wooden ship, and his knees almost leaned with the phantom shift as the floor rocked against the impact of crashing waves against the body of the ark—

“See you at dinner tonight, Angel.” And with that, Crowley was gone, leaving his angel to her thoughts.

Unbeknownst to both beings, the tiny bulging eyes of a small uniquely colored frog watched the display from its hiding place under the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up with that frog...hmm.
> 
> I love writing kids, and I hope everyone enjoyed the Windsor children! They will be one of the important plot devices in the story, and next chapter we will finally see the long awaited dinner party, and what mysteries and scandal await our demon and angel duo.
> 
> All comments welcome! Please feel free to share and leave a kudos! Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this out! I've had my share of stress with everything going on lately, but writing and plotting this story has been a wonderful escape. To all my readers, I wish you and your family well and safe during these times.
> 
> Also, I know I said this chapter would introduce the host of the castle, but I got a little carried away again and wrote too much lol I'll just stick to writing and not promising any future content in chapters. ^_^" 
> 
> Warning: my historical accuracy and ability to describe the wardrobe in that era is sorely lacking, forgive me. Also, ignore the typos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lavish dinner party introduces Crowley to some questionable guests, and Charlotte Windsor makes her...delightful appearance. And yet again, Aziraphale's new appearance does awful things to Crowley's heart.

The day transitioned into evening swiftly and without any disruption, and before Crowley knew any wiser he had been swept away in the hustle and bustle of the night’s festivities; a lavish dinner party in an extravagantly large and equally as extravagantly decorated dining hall enough to fit a literal army of people, servers clad in impressive outfits scurried about the crowds of elegantly dressed guests of all colors, shapes, and sizes with plates of well-prepared hors d'oeuvres and beverages. Laughter and chatter flooded the room as greetings were shared between wealthy families from various backgrounds.

Slipping through the crowds quietly, Crowley caught bits and pieces of different conversations; a lawyer chattering away about his proudest case to a portly older judge who shared a deep chuckle, wives huddled together to gossip behind their champagne flutes, bankers crunching figures with brokers.

Dinner parties such as these were good for networking and for lack of better words a lovely chance to _hobnob_ among the wealthy hierarchy of Britain. However, these benefits were not necessary for Crowley in those aspects, who moreso utilized these opportunities for research and observation for assignments. From the taste of the air to the behavior of the humans around him, these variables were essential to accomplishing the task at hand.

But more importantly, it gave Crowley a great excuse to enjoy fine alcohol without the inconvenience of small demonic miracles. After all, alcohol conjured from thought could never quite get the taste exact and there was something to be said about the enhancement of flavor from hard manual labor.

Point proven, as the delicious carbonated burn of rich champagne down his throat threatened to pull a moan from between his lips that could rival Aziraphale’s any day.

Speaking of a certain angel whose love of fine cuisine and taste often produced such scandalous moans that could make a demon blush, Crowley had yet to catch sight of his angelic comrad— _adversary_. He had to be careful with that term—and come to think of it a trace of the Windsor family as well. But the night was young, and he was confident the evening still promised him those chance moments of timed glances and scarce words he took great pleasure in when working alongside the angel.

“Excuse me, My Lord. A moment of your time?” A rich, confident voice from behind Crowley signaled the inevitable socializing he’d been prepared for, however as soon he turned around to match a face with the voice he almost, _almost_ , blanched at the sight he was welcomed with.

Specifically, an older woman sporting a very conservative navy-blue evening gown that hid everything from her arms, ankles, and a see-through lace veil over one side of her face. If she was _really_ going for a true conservative look, she may have missed the memo about concealing her massive cleavage. A fairly attractive woman for her age, whose skin told Crowley she tried harder than most to keep healthy and away from excessive sunlight. Her salt-and-pepper hair was wrapped neatly in a high bun. Behind her stood three significantly younger ladies in equally as _conservative_ gowns all individually color schemed. Probably to tell them apart, no doubt.

The first thing that came to Crowley’s mind was a mother duck parading her ducklings. It would have been charming if not for the intense stares directed at him with a trace of what some would consider more starved than hungry.

Did ducks eat snakes? He’d have to put a pin in that—

The back of a wrinkled, finely manicured hand blocked his champagne flute to his mouth. Apparently, proximity was lacking in the aristocratic society. Swallowing any wily reply, Crowley offered a tight smile and wrapped a gloved hand gently around the woman’s own and leaned down to plant a chaste kiss to her knuckles, silently hoping this woman bothered to wash her bulky jewelry.

“A pleasure, Miss…?”

“Imogene Houser, of the Houser Manufacturing Company in Lancaster.” She made sure to quickly add the afternote. Ah, it seemed not even a holiday away from home could divide these humans from their priorities.

“Lovely.” Crowley flashed a bit of teeth in his smile and nodded his head in a formal bow. The growing blushes of the group did not go unnoticed. “And who are these beautiful ladies behind you? Sisters, I assume?” That line _always_ worked like a charm. He’d have to keep that one going in hopes it caught on amongst the humans.

Sure enough, his comment erupted a fit of giggles from the younger ladies who hid their laughs behind dainty hands and exchanged bashful glances with each other. Even a woman as stone-like as Imogene let out a few controlled chuckles of her own and slowly lowered her hand to her side primly.

“I would have never known Lord Crowley to be so… _charming_ , given the rumors.”

Crowley quirked a flirtatious brow and smirked devilishly in return, and thanked Hell for blackout spectacles because he could not stop the magnificent eyeroll which shortly followed.

“Rumors? I should hope nothing good.”

Imogene returned his look with an almost playful smirk of her own and turned to the side to give Crowley a full view of the other ladies, who were almost shoulder to shoulder and twitching with pent up anticipation.

“These are my daughters, My Lord. Maryanne, Bethany, and Tilda,” each of the women bowed at their name as if it was rehearsed. “ _Triplets._ ” Her tone carried insinuation at the last word, hinting something meant for someone much more perverted and significantly more interested than Crowley was, yet it brought up a very good point about what type of character Crowley wanted this _Queen’s Guard Dog_ to be.

Nevertheless, this type of flattery and flirtation never suited Crowley well in any persona he took on for a job. Unless, if these triplets just so happened to be of the angelic variety, and all had heavenly voices, were soft, and blond, and blue eyed, and enabled his best bad habits—

There was a time and place to fantasize about having three Aziraphales instead of one, but now was sadly not the time.

“Triplets! Wow. The cost for one is enough, imagine raising three simultaneously, am I right?”

Judging by the blank stares of all four women, the joke fell flat on its arse.

Thankfully, Imogene broke the silence with a quick turn of topic. “Just graduated this summer from their academies, top of their class. As expected of the Houser women, My Lord. They learn from the very best, I can assure you." She finished with a subjective wink. Just who was offering who here?

“Well, congratulations to you three—” Crowley never really understood what he did that sparked the next chain of events, whether it was by sheer eye contact, or plain acknowledgement, but his words were immediately cut off when the invisible restraints severed at that moment, and without a second's hesitation the triplets were no closer to him than the champagne flute in his hand.

“ _I’m_ studying Economics at Cambridge in the Fall!” One of the sisters—Maryanne?—blurted out first, only to be shoved to the side by one of the other sisters.

“ _I_ will be traveling to a modeling agency in _Paris_. They want me to—”

The third one elbowed her way between the two. “Yeah right, Bethany, they’ll take one look at your overbite and send you back in a crate.” _Wow_ , Tilda was quite the savage one.

And what was supposed to be a cordial chat ended with Crowley in the center of three conversations and one giant argument simultaneously, and the demon could only back away so far until he considered the possibility of barreling into the next unsuspecting partygoer behind him. He swallowed down a growl and looked to Imogene expectantly in hopes she could call back her dogs— _daughters_ from practically crawling in his lap for attention, and the proud beaming expression the older woman was giving her children swiftly crushed those hopes.

“I’m sure overbites will become the next fash—no, I would rather _not_ know your waist size—” this was becoming increasingly agitating, and Crowley was never very good at being backed into a corner. Whether that was an instinctual habit from his serpent lineage, or from his human corporation he wasn’t entirely sure, but the need to lash out to put distance between them was growing exponentially in every hair on his body that raised in warning. Should he douse them in champagne? No, that would probably make things much worse. Maybe if he lifted his cane to push the end of the cobra head into one of woman’s chest he could effectively maintain a safe distance.

Whether it was a sign from _above_ or _below_ remained a mystery, as when a strong hand clamped down on demon’s shoulder from behind, Crowley almost transformed.

“Lord Crowley!” The familiar baritone belch was like a saving grace, and Crowley never thought he’d be so relieved to hear that voice. “I was hoping to run into you again, good man! Charlotte get over here, this was the man I was talking about, you know the one.” Foregoing a courteous exit from hungry bachelorettes, Crowley swiveled around under the hand on his shoulder and welcomed the distraction perhaps a little too eagerly, pretending to have not heard the disappointed huffs from the women behind him.

“Charles!” Crowley greeted loudly on purpose, “good to see you. How’s the hand?” He nudged his cane to the bulky man’s hand, and it brought another belch of laughter from the man’s throat which shook his belly. Charles lifted a bandaged hand up in reply.

“Hurts like the devil—”

“All well and good then!” Crowley chirped with a grin. Charles stuttered for only a second before lowering his hand, and the instant he opened his mouth again to speak he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a woman standing next to him. Both man and demon looked to the woman, and Crowley’s eyes took in her tall stature and extravagant evening gown; a soft crème beige with teal colored trim which complimented Charles’ teal bowtie. The gold rings, earrings, and necklace adorning the woman also matched the man’s gold cufflinks. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a braid which looped stylishly around her head. The woman was painfully beautiful, and her sharp blue eyes analyzed Crowley from head to toe with the same curious gaze he hid behind dark spectacles. The shoulders of her dress puffed out as much as it ballooned out at the hips.

“Charles,” when she spoke Crowley immediately recognized the bark in her tone from earlier that day, though muffled was obviously the same voice that sent Aziraphale into a frenzy, “don’t touch the pork wrapped scallops, you’ll be up all night bloating, and— who’s this?” Her disinterest was thickly present in her tone and judging from the way Charles cleared his throat Crowley was not the only one who noticed.

“Charlotte, my dear, this is Anthony Crowley. The man I _told_ you about from earlier?” Charles reminded her from clenched teeth and a slight nudge of the elbow. Crowley stood quietly and waited for the woman to acknowledge his name as exuberantly awed as the greetings he received from everyone else that day. Her piercing stare, however, threw the serpent off and into an unexpected silent showdown. Her face remained passively bored for several seconds before finally quirking a thin brow.

“Oh yes, I remember.” She lifted her hand up expectantly. “Charlotte Windsor. _Charmed_.” The amount of sarcasm bleeding off this woman was impressive by even demon standards. Nevertheless, Crowley took her hand in his and bowed respectfully with a touch of lips to knuckles.

“The feeling is mutual, Charlotte. A real _pleasure_.” The sarcasm was returned in an expertly veiled manner entwined with only a shell of courtesy, enough so that someone as genuinely uptight as Charlotte would be able to catch enough to only speculate its authenticity with a narrowed stare. Her hand was rigid like her apparent nature. Charles, who stood by and hummed approvingly, remained seemingly ignorant of the silent battle of sarcasm.

“Mrs. Windsor,” a female voice called from behind Charlotte, “here is your drink, My Lady.”

A warm sensation, like a soothing balm, melted the frosty irritation inside Crowley with its familiar sweet sound. Crowley glanced up and over Charlotte’s puffy expensive shoulder to sneak a peek at the approaching maid holding a glass of something pink and bubbly raised and ready to serve. Charlotte didn’t skip a beat as she yanked her hand out of Crowley’s grip and turned her arm to the side, and with hand now open she managed to wrap her fingers around the glass and out of her maid’s hands all while not breaking her hard stare beyond the dark glasses. For only a second did the demon wonder if the woman could stare hard enough to see his eyes. Or cut through bone. Both were equally frightening possibilities.

But no human stare-down was worth missing a chance to steal a glance at Aziraphale, and Crowley was all too appreciative at the excuse to pull his attention away from Charlotte. When he finally took in the angel’s appearance, his heart stopped.

All _black_.

As form fitting as a dress could get these days, black fabric engulfed Aziraphale’s arms from the puffy lace at her wrists all the way up to the collar cut just under her jaw was held together by gold buttons which traveled down her chest to stop at the waist where the dress plumed out at the hips, and with it a matching decorative black apron with gold and teal trimming, circular gold spirals stitched in toward the bottom. The dress cut just at Aziraphale’s shins and gave Crowley a delicious sight of black stockings and short-heeled low ankle boots. Just enough ankle showed that bordered on exciting and mouthwatering. Her thick blond hair was pulled into a neat bun, yet it didn’t catch the few rebellious locks of bangs that framed her round pale face void of any makeup, and dear _Satan_ was natural beauty a sin.

Blue eyes, more loving and soft than the emotionless void Crowley was begrudgingly locked into a battle with earlier, lit up at the sight of her demon adversary, hiding an inquisitive lift of one eyebrow at him when it was certain she realized he was an open-mouth away from blatantly gawking at her. And oh, did he want to shamelessly.

Aziraphale _never_ wore black. Ever. And he should know, he’d tried on several occasions across several centuries to coerce her to and with no success each time. To clear the air, the demon didn’t technically have a preference nor ever tried to dictate what Aziraphale wore, it was purely a selfish and facetious desire to see the absence of color on a being who represented the holy white light of all color in Her realm. It was almost too demonic to even imagine.

“So, Lord Crowley, Charles tells me you work for Her Majesty offering…certain skillsets?”

It took too long for Crowley to acknowledge he was being spoken to, and quickly straightened his posture to address Charlotte’s question with a cleared throat. “Yes, that’s right.” Though the answer left no invitation to continue, the Lady Windsor was not fazed. She clicked her tongue. “So you are familiar with the recent chat around London, then?”

“…Only the interesting parts.”

The pause was uncomfortable and intentionally so. “…one can only imagine what _you_ define as interesting, Lord Crowley.”

What was with this woman? It was like speaking to Beelzebub, and _that_ didn’t sit well in his gut nor his nerves. He couldn’t decipher any underlying intentions in her words, yet the demon’s paranoia argued otherwise.

Without the slightest tilt of her posture, Charlotte fixed her eyes on Crowley again, and looked at him as if she was reading a textbook. The pink liquid in her drink sloshed lazily in the glass gripped by her long fingers. “What is your opinion of the recent tariffs among the commonwealth over the last decade?”

If Crowley was an honest demon, his reply would be _‘at a guess, ma’am, given that I’ve slept through the last eighty years, I’d have more concerning opinions over the thread count of my bedsheets than your puny little human politics.’_ If he was a good demon, or _bad_ really, he would twist these aristocrat’s perception in a more selfish direction and see this as an opportunity to plant demonic seeds in their minds to grow more souls for Hell. But Crowley was neither an honest nor all that bad of a demon when it came to humans.

“Well…I’ve always had a unique opinion of recent events, really…” this was not good. Crowley could feel his corporation heating up, threatening to perspire as it so irritatingly did at times. Charles stared at him with growing interest at each word, and it was an apparent contrast to Charlotte’s challenging gaze, as if this was a bloody sport for her. Aziraphale, the _bastard_ , chose to close her lips tightly in an apparent attempt to hide her bemused smirk while casting her eyes to nothing important in the distance to spare the demon any more embarrassment.

“What was that, My Lord? I didn't quite understand that last part, could you elaborate?” Charlotte, the _witch_ , she knew damn well what she was doing.

“Ergh, well, one must really...really _look_ at the grand scheme of things. Take a step back, as they say. I feel that huma- _people_ , people _really_ should practice that more—”

“Mummy!”

Oh, thank Hell for small miracles, and by small miracles Crowley meant the sudden cry of a small child running up to them through the forest of legs. Familiar brown curls bounced as the young child appeared next to Charlotte, dressed in a child-version of Charlotte’s dress of crème, gold, and teal, she looked like the doll version of the woman without the cold hard eyes.

Maurielle, he was positive that was her name, ran over and grabbed her mother’s dress in her chubby hands. Her head tilted up with gigantic pleading eyes and a sour expression on her face.

“Mummy, Charlie keeps eating off my plate!” She whined with a tremble of her bottom lip, frustrated tears beginning to line the brim of her eyelashes. “I told him to stop, but he keeps doing it!”

“Alright, darling.” Charlotte _finally_ looked down at her daughter, and it was obvious the sigh and quiet sip of her drink came priority over addressing her child. That observation did not sit well with Crowley.

With an expectant nod of her head, Charlotte spared a single blink. Charles said nothing.

“Miss Fell…?”

A quick beat of silence passed before Aziraphale caught on and motioned toward the child. “Yes, My Lady.” She nodded obediently and reached down to gently remove Maurielle’s hands from her mother’s dress and lifted the girl into her arms with a quiet, “come along, my dear. We’ll make you a new plate.”

Maybe it had to do with observing human characteristics for thousands of years and familiarizing centuries of different evolutionary periods, but it gave Crowley an ability to notice small insignificant details that would otherwise have been lost to most. In this case, Crowley could say he may have been the only one who noticed the fleeting look of disappointment on the little girl’s face as she was past along to the family maid to be dealt with. Being the third-party spectator to this was never easy for the serpent.

Crowley almost _, almost_ , decided to turn the other cheek and mind his own, but once Aziraphale and Maurielle were out of earshot Charlotte’s next words were too awful to ignore.

“Do you have any children, Lord Crowley?” She asked dismissively.

“…No, I—”

“Be grateful you don’t,” Charlotte cut him off after another large _sip_ of her drink, “if the invitation had bothered to mention not bringing children along, we would have _gladly_ left them at home with the maid.” Crowley had to remember to breath, because the pressure in his chest was becoming too much to handle as it traveled down to his hands to clench tightly at his sides.

“Yes, that would have been helpful.” Charles, the spineless cad, agreed with his wife with the same dismissive tone. To add insult to injury, the way his eyes intensely ogled the curvy physique of a nearby woman begged the question of how long the man had genuinely been paying attention.

Hell would have a _very_ special place for these two, the serpent was sure of it. And, out of all the significantly more deserving humans, why these two were assigned an angel to watch over them Crowley would never understand. However, Aziraphale’s earlier comments about who she speculated to be assigned to in this family rang in his head more clearly now than it did then.

A quick flick of his wrist had him checking his pocket watch. Within the hour, the host of this entire circus would make his appearance. Crowley wanted to be sure to find a good seat for the show, preferably far away from these two poor excuses for humans and if he could secure a nice place close enough to Aziraphale for a brief inconspicuous chat he decided now was the time to act.

“Well, as _delightful_ as this has been….” Crowley didn’t even bother to finish the sentence and let it trail off into the tense air between himself, Charles, and Charlotte. Turning on the balm of his heel, he strode past Charlotte to join Aziraphale at one of the many serving tables on the far side of the room.

And at that moment a very _evil_ idea popped into the serpent’s head.

Oh yes, it was quite evil. Very demonic in nature, too. So diabolically evil, it was almost uncharacteristic of Crowley to carry out such a dastardly idea.

Slowing his stride just as their shoulders brushed, Crowley leaned in close to Charlotte until his lips were only a few inches from the woman’s ear. When he spoke, the quiet hiss of his forked tongue carried the venomous cajolery of demonic intervention into her ear to seep into her conscious like poison.

_“What becomesss~a woman’s beauty when a man of vowed loyalty prefers the tempting fruit of lusssst~for othersss?”_

As soon as the moment started it ended without so much as a passing glance. Perhaps if his angel had been treated with more respect, or a child given the loving attention of a mother they deserve, Crowley wouldn’t feel the need to act like the sinister hellion he was expected to be and resort to such petty antics. But demons didn’t believe in _raising the bar_ or _being the bigger person_ compared to their angelic counterparts. Stooping to new lows was encouraged in Hell similar in commendation to who could run the fastest or lift the most weight.

And although this knowledge only fueled Crowley’s actions, he still would never be able to compare himself to his more hellish cohorts. An exceptional demon would have stopped to admire the sudden self-conscious inward curl of Charlotte’s arrogant posture as a human would admire a rosebush, would have preened at the look of fury those cold calculating eyes casted on her spouse watching on as the thought, which conjured _seemingly out of nowhere_ , proved true by the hunger in his greedy gaze for another woman. An exceptional demon would have enjoyed the feast of such a display, driving them to instigate and fester the fury into something uglier and more sinister.

Fortunately for Charlotte, Crowley wasn’t an exceptional demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how I love writing Crowley being more demonic then usual to show someone a lesson. Idc, Charlotte deserved it.
> 
> All comments are welcome! Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally just wrote this entire thing in one sitting, I could not wait for this part! Forgive any typos or grammar errors! 5 hours of nonstop writing and only 20 minutes of impatient revisions later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The party continues, and misunderstandings lead to a jealous angel who's love for sweets catches the eye of a mysterious man...

Prior to this most recent assignment, Aziraphale never had much of an opinion when it came to children. That wasn’t to imply she didn’t _like_ them; it was simply that she never had much reason to be around children often.

Children were _sticky_ , and _loud_ , and those were not typically things the angel invited into her bookshop. She never blamed them, how could she? When a human is only a handful of years old, it did not seem logical to cast judgement so quickly when experience and knowledge was evidently lacking. Aziraphale could easily admit she too felt inadequate in certain departments despite decades, even centuries to master the necessary skills.

Back to the topic at hand, Aziraphale never had a strong opinion of human offspring. That is, until she met Maurielle and Charlie Windsor. There was so much Aziraphale had learned from these two in just weeks’ time. Yes, they could be loud, and sticky, and muddy, and questionably mischievous at times, they were the most well mannered and loving children the angel had come to know. And the most perplexing thing about these two was that their own unique characteristics were formed from somewhere she had yet to understand, because in all her time working for the Windsor family, she was damn certain they did not learn these positive traits from their parents.

She would bet Gabriel’s narcissism on that theory, and _that_ was a hard gamble to lose.

“Miss Fell?”

The curious little voice pulled Aziraphale out of her musings abruptly, and she briefly wondered how long she had been standing there intently staring at the plate of bite sized food like it was about to launch an all-out assault. She turned to the child in her arms, who was watching her with an adorable tilt of her head.

“My apologies, dear.” Aziraphale laughed and allowed the slight blush on her cheeks in embarrassment. “I went away for a bit again, didn’t I?”

“…only a little.” Maurielle replied shyly, her fingers poking and fiddling with the gold buttons of Aziraphale's dress in absentminded habit. A habit, the angel came to learn quickly, occurred when something upset her. Fidgety fingers were a telltale sign with the little girl.

It was never discussed, only ever mentioned in passing as if they were retelling an interesting fact about the weather, that the children knew their parents scarcely had time for them. When a knee was scraped, Aziraphale was the one to bandage it. When a nightmare was too frightening to go back to sleep, Aziraphale —very happy to be of assistance with this one—read bedtime stories to ease fear. When it was time for baths, for dinner, for schooling, and everything in between it was up to the butler and the house maids to ensure the children’s needs were met.

“Maurielle, would you like some of these glazed chicken bites?” Aziraphale motioned to the dish on the table. When the child did not respond, she tried again. Funny enough, the angel’s answer were muffled giggles against her shoulder which made her glance from the food to realize the girl’s attention was on something next to them.

Namely, a gold cobra head bobbing up and down with a scratchy little cartoon voice.

“ _Hisss, don’t forget to eat your sweets before your greens, little one. Hisss. A proper lady always digs into a good pie before dinner!”_

Maurielle wiggled with amusement. Aziraphale knew she had to set an example and tried extra hard to substitute her smile for an exasperated huff of disapproval.

“ _Really_ , my dear?” And as soon as Aziraphale turned around, Crowley made a show of standing straight with the cane at his side, shrugging like the innocent do-gooder he wasn’t.

“Wasn’t _me_ , mum. Big fan of no dessert before dinner, I am.” The huffy uptight attitude was not fooling anyone. “Though, Mr. Cobra on the other hand, now _he’s_ the bloke you should have words with.” The cobra head popped up again with a hidden flick of the demon’s hand.

_“Cursssesss, I’ve been caught red handed!”_ That certainly threw the little girl into a fit of laughter. She pointed at the cane. “But you’ve got no hands, Mr. Cobra!” It was all so overwhelmingly adorable it could put a smile on an angel and demon alike, and it certainly did.

Crowley always was better with children than Aziraphale, that much was very apparent after the many millennia they spent on Earth. And he did it with such ease it appeared almost second nature, which is not something one could say about a demon of Hell.

She always did admire that about him….

But now was not the time to swoon. Aziraphale had to act swiftly, for who knew the kind of vigilant eyes that could be watching them.

“Alright, that’s quite enough playtime,” she scolded without any heat or temper, “someone needs to get some food in her before she gets fussy. Isn’t that right?” She added a little nudge at Maurielle.

Crowley didn’t skip a _beat_. “You, or the girl?”

“ _Cheeky_.” Never let it be argued that an angel can hiss like a serpent.

Aziraphale set the little girl down on her feet and handed her the plate of food. “Why don’t you join your brother, he seems lonely.” She pointed at a particular table where Charlie seemed completely absorbed in constructing a hot potato creature with asparagus tentacles and clearly taking advantage of no one noticing his lack of proper table manners.

Maurielle made a face, but the angel was quick to add, “and tell him Miss Fell said _no_ stealing food! I need to have a word with Lord Crowley, but I will join you momentarily.” With an obedient nod, it appeared as though Maurielle would listen and make her way to Charlie. She suddenly stopped and craned her head up to look at Crowley.

“…why were you in Miss Fell’s bedroom today—?”

“ _Ngk_.”

“Aaand off you go!” It only took a good nudge—some would argue it was more of a shove—into the girl’s back with the flat of Aziraphale’s hand and she scurried off quickly with her plate. If her damn dress allowed it, she would have exhaled in relief. Sadly, this era’s fashion for women did not encourage proper breathing.

The angel turned and pretended to analyze the lavish spread of different cuisines in front of her. Taking the hint, Crowley walked up next to her and did the same. The air between them changed with the familiar seriousness of professional etiquette for their individual jobs.

“…any new developments…?” Crowley spoke low under his breath just enough for Aziraphale to hear.

She replied in same. “At the moment, no. You?” The demon shook his head quietly.

It would have been odd that the day remained inconspicuously calm for the amount of demonic aura lurking around every corner in a manner more fitting for a haunting specter. To be fair, time was something to consider with certain assignments. Though Aziraphale always preferred the tasks to be over and done with as quick as possible, she did understand these events could take time to develop and show themselves.

“So…” Crowley started, and paused. She knew _that_ tone; it meant nothing good. “…interesting choice of wardrobe, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not sure what you’re implying, my dear.” She lied.

Crowley caught it instantly with a slight nod of his head and a casual lean to one side. “If I had to guess, your dear _sweet_ Lady Windsor had something to do with why you look more like a funeral attendant than a maid?”

“ _Oh_ , don’t remind me.” Aziraphale couldn’t help the whine that escaped from her lips; she had been wanting to complain about it the very moment she saw the infernal outfit. “It’s horrid, I know. And I can’t breathe in this damn thing. Had I known _this_ was going to be my chosen attire I would have…well,” she glanced down at her poor breasts constrained by the corset under the dress, “…chose a smaller size for the poor girls.”

How Crowley could choke on air was anyone’s guess.

“Ergh…well, you don’t _need_ to breath, really….”

“I _know_ that!” She caught herself immediately when her tone seemed too loud and moved a good foot away from the demon for good measure. “But wanting to is now rather difficult.” Maybe he was right; she had not eaten anything since brunch time when she was able to sneak a few of those _deliciously exquisite_ chocolates Crowley had gifted her. She was a fussy thing without food.

“I dunno, Angel…I wouldn’t say your outfit is… _horrid_.” The comment caused her head to swivel despite the need to remain inconspicuous. “What was that?”

“Well, it… _you_ said it was horrid, I…uh… _shit_ ,” the stuttering quickly became a startled growl, “here comes those triplets!”

“Triplets—?” Her eyes followed the direction of his attention, and for only a second the angel thought she was looking at hungry lions prowling through the crowd, but immediately realized it was actually just three young, _beautiful_ , _thin_ , wealthy identical looking women approaching. Funny that Aziraphale would have almost preferred the lions.

“Gotta go. See you in a while.” And with all the stealth of a shadow in a peripheral, Crowley slithered into the crowd of people around them, disappearing and leaving Aziraphale standing quietly perplexed, and accompanying it a strange displaced feeling of loneliness.

Unsurprising, really. Typical Crowley: slipping away without so much as a goodbye and leaving the angel to only speculate his last parting words…as if it didn’t bother her at all.

And why should it? Aziraphale huffed at the thought, a pout forming on her full lips. Without thinking, her arms came up to fold across her chest trying to blame the reason on irritation and certainly _not_ the creeping presence of inadequacy threatening to welcome itself in her thoughts. Ridiculous. She was an _angel_ , and angels didn’t concern themselves with the opinions of _demons_ , wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at the idea. Why should she feel a certain way if the wily old tempter wanted to gallivant around the party being chased by three gorgeous young women? Aziraphale was many things, but she wasn’t blind, especially to the kind of _looks_ those women gave Crowley when they spotted him.

And judging by Crowley’s hasty retreat, it was almost as if he was enjoying that game of chase. Well, at least _one_ of them was having a good time….

Without much thought, the angel angrily swiped a chocolate fudge square off one of the serving trays and popped it in her mouth, chewing like the little bite of food insulted her. Damn that serpent and his bloody handsome face and— _oh_ , those fudge squares were _divine._ With a small moan, a piece of her frustration broke off with it. A quick glance around she made sure no one was watching before sneaking another square.

Sweet, dependable fudge; always there to soothe raw nerves. The rich flavor of tender craft melted across her palate in a burst of sensations. Why worry about whatever vulgar acts that fire-headed snake was getting into with three— _three!_ —women when these decadent little morsels were calling her with their siren—

“My, I wish I could enjoy fudge the way you do.”

Reality set in like the subtle shatter of glass, or better yet like a crack of lightning with how her spine rippled with shock. She was so sure no one had been watching her secret throes of passion. So when the deep rumble of a man’s voice sounded alarmingly close to her ear she was almost too late in stopping the surprised shriek, which ended up more like a squeak, through a mouthful of chocolate fudge.

Aziraphale swerved around to confront the man, and the second her eyes took in the gentle smile and amused amber-warm eyes watching her, she nearly choked down the rest of her dessert.

It was like this man appeared out of thin air, his presence suddenly _there_ and the air felt thick and electrified like the ominous moments before a thunderstorm. His suit was a cleverly designed charcoal gray vest, black poplin waistcoat that flattered well-tailored pants, and burgundy glace silk trim bled wealth and something distinctly different than what normally associated with such. Modesty, perhaps?

Whatever it was, this man wore it better than the suit itself. It smoothed the sharpened edges of his features, keeping the embers of his warm eyes alive.

Aziraphale’s face suddenly burned as if someone stuck her head in a furnace, which was not something she was accustomed to. No human, no _mortal_ , had ever caused a blush so scorching. Okay, to be fair, it _did_ happen once while collaborating a playwright with Oscar Wilde a few years back. Her dear sweet Oscar, but they were just friends and she had blamed it more on the criteria of their work and the second bottle of Château Lafite. The sulfates in red wine _always_ kissed her cheeks a rosy red—

Oh dear, she was internally monologuing again. Nervous habit, nothing too embarrassing.

Judging by the way his smile grew large and bright across his face, this mystery man must have known what she was doing.

His shoulders shook in a quiet chuckle. “Must be some damn good fudge.”

“No! I mean…” oh, this was only getting worse, “…I just…you surprised me, that’s all. My apologies, Sir.” Remembering her manners and equally her current place in society, the angel leaned forward in a respectful bow. What was she _thinking_ making a fool of herself in front of someone clearly leagues above her?! If this ever got back to Charles and Charlotte….

A rich laugh broke through the building panic as the man leaned back and waved a gloved hand in the air to fan away the apology. “Apologies? For what? Enjoying yourself?” He guffawed heartily, and it was so jarring Aziraphale couldn’t help but jerk her head up and look at him with wide eyes.

“Ah…” it had been a _long_ time since a human made the Principality of Earth speechless. This wasn’t right, not at all. This man was getting chummy with a _maid_? Of all the most beautiful, successful people here….

“I’m sorry, Sir…,” the distant low tone did not go unnoticed by the mystery man, who lost a bit of his smile at the sound, “…I think you have me confused with, well,” her blue eyes roamed over the room around them in emphasis.

“With who?”

The possibility that this man could be teasing her was considered. Or perhaps a friendly wager or lost bet between him and his mates as well. It stung, but humans could be needlessly nasty without so much as a passing thought at times. Maybe Aziraphale having to admit to a harsh truth was the real prize here?

She had to remember who she _really_ was in all this, however. She was an _angel_ , a soldier of light and love and certainly not a being who concerned themselves with petty antics—

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the mystery man’s next words. “If you can forgive a moth for flying into a flame, I’m sure you can forgive a man for being drawn to a beautiful lady standing alone amongst a party having more fun by herself than crowded up against these attention seeking hogs in expensive clothing.”

_Wow._

“…ngk.” Oh good lord, she would _die_ before ever admitting to Crowley of the noise she just made.

_Crowley_ ….

Her heart did a suddenly odd stabbing thing in her chest. With nothing else to say, she stayed silent and stared into the warm amber looking back at her, and for a moment all she could see were two molten yellow eyes she wished only in the most hidden parts of her mind could one day look at her with the same bright interest.

A quick blink, and molten yellow transformed back into warm amber.

The man in front of her ran a hand over his hair to smooth jet black locks that didn’t need the assistance, and when he did she couldn’t help but notice his physical appearance was not too different than the very adversary that had fleetingly crossed her mind.

Oh lord, did she have a _type?_

“I…ah, I mustn’t be too long, I’m afraid.” Why was she afraid? “My Lady, you see, she will start to wonder where I am, and—”

A snort was her reply. “You mean the lady who thinks too highly of her gold and teal combo? Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but,” he leaned in and cupped his hand over his mouth playfully in whisper, “she’s drunker than a barrel hugger.” And with a long finger he pointed slyly to the right, and watching Charlotte in all her highborn aristocracy sloppily leaning against two men almost too young for her age across the room was enough of a sight to pull a gasp from angelic lips.

The mystery man pulled back with a _told you so_ quirk of his eyebrow. “She won’t even notice you’re absence, I assure you.” And as if his mysterious aura wasn’t enough, what he said next was so on point with her thoughts it was almost spooky. “And the children are fine, my dear. I believe the younger one is helping her elder brother build a food family for his potato monster.”

She dared not look, but the obligation was there. Aziraphale leaned on one thick hip to sneak a peek at the dinner table behind the man’s shoulder, and groaned. It would take hours to get those brown gravy stains out of Maurielle’s dress.

The sigh Aziraphale let out was as heavy as it was tired. “Good Sir, you’ve been nothing but kind to me this evening. As appreciative as I am of your company, my employers are in a state of utter disaster and thus my presence is needed.” She finished with a gentle smile hoping he would understand.

She was almost expecting him to push back, or come up with an excuse to keep her there. Surprisingly, he placed an open hand to his chest just over his heart, a deep rumbling sound reverberating in his throat with a tender tilt of his head.

“To see a maid looking after her family so thoughtfully. Not something you see every day. Like a… a _guardian angel.”_

The short powder-blond hair on the nape of Aziraphale’s neck raised in alarm, but she ignored it.

She watched on, in a foggy daze, as the tall elegant man bent at the waist in a bow that would end their conversation, and as he did so the angel felt her left hand be taken into a larger stronger hand, and watched in quiet awe as he brought her knuckles to his lips. They were warm, and soft, and the air in her lungs turned frigid when they planted a light kiss with intentionally more pressure on her ring finger before placing the hand back to her side.

“Please keep enjoying the night. It would make me so happy if you did.” He winked and stood straight with hands now clasped behind his back. “I did work _really_ hard to make sure everyone would have a great time. I’d hate to disappoint my guests, who after all traveled _so far_ just to see me.” There was no denying the closeness of his body to hers as he brushed past her was completely intentional.

The frigid air in Aziraphale’s lungs turned to ice which creeped through her veins and froze her heart. Seeing nothing but the words just spoken dancing along her vision with rounded eyes, she swallowed down the immense pressure of realizing who she had been talking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise we would see the mysterious owner of this lavish castle ;) I wonder what this man knows...or maybe he's just being sweet. Who knows? But we'll find out soon enough!
> 
> All comments welcome, please let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To my readers, thank you for your wonderful comments and for following this story up until now. For being so patient as I needed the last 7 chapters to set the moods, the characters, and the settings, here is where the story really kicks into 5th gear and gets plot heavy.
> 
> This chapter will be significantly darker than all the rest so far, and I've made sure to add some additional tags just to be safe. This won't replace any of the established light-hearted, fluffy, or humorous themes, simply that the story is now ready for the Murder Mystery ;)
> 
> WARNING: angst, strong language, some potentially triggering off-centered content briefly mentioned, spooky stuff, and off-centered mentions of violence. Some gore too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anger is a dangerous tempter, and can bring out the demon in everyone. Crowley learns this too late. One door slams shut, yet another one opens unveiling only a glimpse of the horror that lies within the castle walls.

The dinner party came to an end with the lingering stagger of the last few inebriated guests bumbling and stumbling their way back to their rooms. Judging by the uproarious laughter and disheveled appearances from lost shoes to messy hair it was no one’s guess the party was a success and one to remember. Friendships were made as people leaned on each other for support, conversations carried until eyes drooped sleepily with a signal it was time to retire. By one in the morning the only activity in the castle came from the staff wrapping up whatever areas still needed cleaning, and the small band putting away their instruments and congratulating each other on a splendid performance.

As the last drunken giggle dissipated down the stone corridors of the hallway, a tall dark figure emerged from the shadows to silently embark on a late night lurk about the expansive walls. A flutter of a black cloak around a corner gave away any indication of a presence slipping through the night.

Yes, it was a perfect night for skillfully lurking—

The point of a long black shoe caught the ground just irregularly enough to throw off balance and elicit a startled hiss and a loud stomp.

_“Sonofa witches bastard bloody infernal…!”_

So much for the _skillful_ part of the lurking. Crowley froze after catching himself with a litany of curses. Of course, _of course_ , like the entire evening it seemed he could do nothing right, not even lurk like a proper demon without some sort of stumble or hiccup and it left the redhead all the more frustrated. He hadn’t been able to stop the miserable hunch of his shoulders or the snarled curl of his upper lip for the past hour, and if anyone saw him up close, they would have probably mistaken him for a monster.

He certainly felt like one.

Stupid humans, stupid party, stupid castle…but after the night went to complete shit Crowley couldn’t help but feel like the King of Stupid.

Five minutes, that’s all it took to get rid of those _damn_ triplets who chased him away from his pleasantly little secret conversation with Aziraphale. He thought he was thinking quick when he slipped away into the crowd to lose them. When they had trailed him, he managed to trick them onto one of the many balconies outside and with a quick snap of his fingers the double-doors of the balcony shut tight and a few additional locks that weren’t there before had latched good and secure. A quick threatening finger pointed at the doors and a harsh warning made sure they understood under _no_ circumstance would they open until the party was close to over.

It wasn’t until he made his way back into the crowd did his eyes catch the presence of a man standing where Crowley had just minutes ago, chatting away with his angel. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much: though demonic serpent he was, he was not _that_ possessive of a creature. Idle chatter never made him _jealous_.

Though unfortunately for Crowley, he could see the man’s face, and that was what made his blood boil hotter than any pool of sulfur he’d ever fallen into.

Those perfect _dimples_ , that charming smile, the way he leaned close— _too close—_ to Aziraphale to share a little secret and a laugh and oh he was just _so_ hilarious, wasn’t he? Prick. Crowley was probably funnier. Aziraphale didn’t even laugh with him, at least that was good. He wasn’t sure what his heart would do if she did. And to clarify yet again, Aziraphale was free to laugh with whoever _he_ or _she_ saw fit. Heaven, even that Oscar fellow hadn’t riled him up nearly as bad as this did. It was just… _this guy._ First impressions aside, Crowley felt something within himself curl as soon as he set eyes on the man.

Like a sixth sense, or eighth, or whatever. Didn’t matter. Point was he didn’t trust the bloke and he _certainly_ didn’t like him so close to Aziraphale.

Back in reality, Crowley made sure to slip back into a shadowy area once he made sure the commotion he made attracted no attention. A little-known fact; professional lurking did often rely on one’s keen ability to multitask.

To think: if that was the only kick in the shin tonight, he wouldn’t feel so defeated. Whoever Crowley pissed off so badly to get cursed with such bad luck were now just getting greedy, and he had a fair suspicion it could have been _Her_.

But he was already revved up harder than a steam engine right now, he wouldn’t open _that_ box tonight.

On top of watching the man lay his nasty lips on Aziraphale’s hand, he failed to get any leads in his assignment. This rich old castle owner, whoever they were, was supposed to make an appearance at the party. And some never got the chance to meet them, but others did. In some glimmer of positivity, he did manage to network with a few people he could refer to for more information later. There was the alcoholic judge with a weakness for scotch who was entertaining, and that physician with the impressive barstool mustache did have some good anecdotes. He liked that guy.

Anyway, Crowley had missed their host by a hair’s width too late. There was no suspicious behavior, nothing worth investigating. The creepiest event of the night happened when he’d accidentally bumped shoulders with an ominous looking older gentleman one could have mistaken for a statue, he was so stiff. He was dressed normal enough for a butler, but his appearance strangely reminded Crowley of Hastur.

Maybe it was the sickly-looking skin tone, or the miserable ugly grimace on his cold face which oddly complimented his void stare. And there was this unmistakably _slimy_ look about him. Crowley almost wondered if it wasn’t so much Hastur this old man reminded him of, more so the toad on his head. Or a frog. Obvious differences, the two.

Crowley could only imagine the reaction if that were the only thing he reported back to Hell. _Oi, Beelze you shoulda seen this guy. Looked like he was about to…croak! Get it?_

He’d be thrown into the pit for centuries.

And that wasn’t even the _worst_ part of it all.

The proverbial cherry on top of this entire shit sundae occurred just after he had decided the party was a complete bust and decided to heaven with it all he was going to do some good old-fashioned lurking.

To set the scene appropriately, it was important to remember how awful a mood he was in at that moment. His hunch had just set in and the scowl began to stick to his lips. Nerves raw and chafed, he was on edge. Every distant giggle made his eye twitch, every flicker of his tongue made him grumble with some irritating taste in the air. Crowley knew he needed to burn this fuel off before he did or said something irresponsible or stupid.

He hadn’t intentionally meant for his lurking to end up in this particular wing of the castle where Aziraphale and the Windsor family stayed; how could that simple fact manage to break through such a thick fog of anger clouding his fleshy human brain? It never stood a chance.

So when he turned the corner and caught sight of Charles and Aziraphale standing in the hallway outside the bedrooms he quickly reversed with a hasty step back around the corner and flattened his thin frame against the stone wall. He waited, pulse throbbing in his throat when he thought he’d been spotted, however after several seconds it was clear he managed to keep out of sight when whatever muffled conversation going on around the corner continued without interruption.

Crowley’s heightened senses should have caught every word; after all, he never once admitted he wasn’t above a good eavesdropping. The reason why he didn’t pay much attention could be blamed on, yet again, the festering irritation snuffing everything out.

How that selfish behavior would sorely come to be a very regrettable oversight….

Present time, Crowley clenched his fists at the recollection. How he wished beyond anything he wasn’t cursed to torture himself with the vicious cycle of replaying every mistake he’d ever done. This one here, it would be a lovely addition.

He stood there for only a few minutes until Charles’ frustrated growl drifted down the hall, a door slamming shut followed louder and heavier which made Crowley peek around the corner to see Aziraphale standing there by herself, her stiff back blocking her expression. It was almost odd how long she stood there like that.

But Crowley was as blind as he was stupid then, and quickly passed it off as nothing. He slithered around the corner, his steps a little heavier and the cane dropping every third step with unnecessary assistance to draw her attention, which to his pleasure it did just that when she perked her head up and turned around. It was supposed to be a nice treat at the end of it all; to see the one person who could always bring him down from such a tempered high. Like a drug, Crowley sought it out almost desperately. Greedy, selfish demon that he was needed his fix.

However, when his presence hadn’t brought out the light in her eyes like it usually did it didn’t sit well with him. Her eyes did grow large, momentarily startled at seeing him, but that was it. There was no smile, just a crooked droop of her lips. Blue eyes glowed not with warmth, but something foreign and too troubled for an angel. Her normally reserved posture was a sad contrast; as if she withdrew into herself, guarded and fragile. One arm wrapped around her waist under her breasts, the other arm propped at the elbow with forearm clutched to her chest. Her hand cupped the left side of her soft neck under her round jaw, protective in a way Crowley didn’t understand. Protective from who?

There were so many signs, so many warning flares he overlooked ignorantly. Thinking back on it, Crowley hissed to himself through grinding teeth in the loneliness of the dark hallway. “ _Fool…_ why didn’t you notice?” But the Crowley only a little more than an hour ago was too overcome by his own growing anger and the new layer of disappointment at her lack-of reaction only made things worse.

“…Crowley,” Aziraphale called to the demon as he approached stiffly, and because her tone didn’t have the welcoming lilt he needed at that moment only soured his stomach, “wh-what are _you_ doing here?”

If this was Aziraphale’s attempt to put distance between them like so many other occasions in history, when it suited _her_ of course, Crowley was not in the mood to entertain her attempts to remind him of the thwarting adversaries of warring sides they were supposed to be instead of friends.

“What, am I not _supposed_ to be here?” He knew he wasn’t, they both knew these encounters were the equivalent of walking a _very_ tight rope. But right now, he couldn’t give a toss. He placed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I’m wounded, Angel.”

The sarcasm just seemed to drip off every word, and the way the angel visibly blanched meant she’d noticed. Her mouth opened, quivered ever so slightly, and finally she stuttered a, “…I-I-no, I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t expecting you here….”

“Surprise, I guess?” He shrugged with a slight shake of his head. “Didn’t get to a chance to meet back up, thought now would be a good time.” He should have just told her the honest pathetic truth of why he approached her; _I feel like a foolish demon, Angel, and right now I could really go for a strong drink with my favorite company if you’ll have me._

But he didn’t. And maybe if he had, she would have gladly accepted and admitted that she too could use the same thing.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered about the air around them, brows pinched and face pensive. It was so clear now that it wasn’t because of him, but unfortunately at the time it seemed as though she was thinking of a good excuse to get rid of him. Perhaps being a typical angel and trying for the politest way not to sound condescending. Crowley briefly thought of their argument so many decades ago at St. James Park when he slipped that piece of paper with the words of a desperate request for protection and the hurt and disappointment of then unearthed from its forced shallow grave to ignite his bitter want for a fight.

Aziraphale’s eyes finally found their way back to Crowley’s, fortunately stopped at the metaphorical door that was the dark lenses of his spectacles. When she spoke, it was soft and strained. To the demon, it sounded _patronizing._

“My dear…perhaps we should continue this tomorrow? I…” there was something trying forcefully to make itself known, but the angel was good about keeping things to herself, so it probably stayed in her throat and replaced by, “…it’s been a long night, and I’m feeling quite tired. More than I should, really. I’d like to retire for the night if that’s alright?”

“’A’course… _’course_ , Angel.” Crowley sneered back at her as the little bastard demons danced in his head jeering him to instigate an argument. He sniffled harshly and turned his nose up as he turned his head away. He swished his next words around in his mouth like the most bitter wine before deciding sod it all he was going to spit it out. “Sounds like you had an _eventful_ night; chattering away with handsome nobles can be _so_ exhausting, after all.”

Knowing now what he didn’t know then, Crowley would have socked himself square in the mouth. All those signs and had he bothered to read any of them? No. Something was obviously troubling Aziraphale for her to act so withdrawn and distant. Crowley always prided himself on how well he could read his angel, yet after that spectacle in the hallway he would later question if he truly deserved to believe such a thing.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” There it was; the indignation that promised an oncoming argument. There was only so much Aziraphale put up with before holy fire ignited her temper and boiled the human blood in her corporation’s veins, fueled by the ethereal being possessing it.

Crowley, stories high on his pedestal of self-righteous anger, welcomed it with a crooked sneer.

“You heard me.”

The pale hand cupping her soft neck balled into a fist, her eyes narrowing as blue irises hardened to a steel grayish shade. Porcelain cheeks reddened with growing heat that would have been enthralling if it weren’t for the building fury that caused it.

“Oh, so you noticed, did you?” Aziraphale was too good at taking his petulance, wrapping it into a ball, and throwing it back at him with the strength of a hundred angels. Despite her slight movement back, it seemed only to make room for the harshness of her words. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you found the time to observe my every move, what with all those _lovely_ ladies nearly tripping over themselves after you. Must have been _so_ hard for you having to juggle _so_ many responsibilities in your _busy_ schedule, _Lord_ _Crowley_.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to motion backward at the force of her bite. His hand gripped the cobra head of his cane hard enough to dent the gold.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ demon. He should have stopped there, cleared his head and apologized. Why he said what he said next he would never forgive himself for, especially after what Aziraphale had been through just moments ago. Had he only realized sooner, had Aziraphale just told him—no, it was not her fault. Crowley hadn’t given her a chance to explain.

If he didn’t deserve to Fall for anything he’d done in his existence prior, he deserved it then.

Taking all of his pent-up aggression formed over hours of self-deprecation, he pulled his lips back to show clenched teeth and snarled vehemently.

“At least _one of us_ was given a role of worthwhile importance here. Tell me, how is playing Charles’ _wet nurse_ working out for you? Heaven must be _so proud_.”

As soon as it was said it could not be taken back.

The air went still as the heavy silence fell upon them both, the words hanging in the air like putrid smoke. It was sobering, terrifyingly so. All the heat, the fury, all the mindless anger dissolved instantly, replaced with an empty cold void. Behind blackout lenses, Crowley’s eyes enlarged as the serpent yellow engulfed the whites, black slit pupils constricted to mere slivers.

Anything Aziraphale would have said in retort after that was well deserved, and he would take it like a much-needed beating. To his growing horror, the angel physically recoiled back, drawing her body inwardly as if she’d been struck and trying to protect herself from a killing blow. The fist balled against her neck trembled. The steel of her eyes melted as they rounded as wide as his own, telling Crowley he’d done more than just say something awful as the hurt and disbelief told a grim truth; it exposed a glimpse of what happened to the angel prior to this she had yet to confess to him, perhaps had yet to confess to herself.

It was so glaringly obvious. Someone had hurt her…someone had hurt _his_ angel, that much he was certain. Of how he didn’t know, to what extent he was unsure, of _who_ he had a pretty _goddamn_ good idea, and of all the times for Crowley to realize this it was far too late and the damage had been done.

Tears began to collect upon the brim of her bottom eyelids, and it shattered his black heart. His long arms screamed to reach out and pull her soft frame to him tightly and never let go, spilling endless apologies into her blond hair. He would sell his soul a million times to never see that look on her face, knowing he had caused it.

When Aziraphale opened her mouth it was silence, save for the quiver of her chin.

He back-peddled as fast as he could, his voice scratched and hoarse. “A-Angel, I—”

“How _dare_ you, you… _foul_ _demon_ ,” she tried to hiss but her voice cracked halfway through, “you have _no_ idea what I’ve had to endure for _months_ as you slept these years away.” He watched helplessly as she turned away from him and grabbed the handle of her bedroom door, yanking it open so hard the hinges groaned in pain. With one last turn of her head, the look she gave him from head to toe petrified him where he stood.

Hell hath no fury like an angel’s scorn.

“…you should have stayed asleep.”

The door slammed shut. Silence was Crowley’s only companion then, like a cold wet suffocating blanket.

Much like the silence in present time, more than an hour later the demon could not shake it. He didn’t try very hard, to be honest. The guilt hanging over him made sure of that. He brought a hand up to cover his face, long thin fingers crawling underneath his blackout spectacles to massage the throbbing behind his eyes, which did nothing to sooth the pulsating ache.

What happened back there? It was so unlike him to lash out like that at the one person who didn’t deserve a shred of it. Who was that standing there in the hallway spatting hateful words at his angel like a…an _exceptional demon_? It was disgusting, and so far beneath him. As if he was possessed by something hideous, but that was ridiculous. _Pathetic_ , he inwardly sneered at himself _, trying to cast blame when this is no other’s fault but your own._

Crowley took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. He was in no shape for a proper lurk tonight. Slithering back to his bed chambers was a tempting offer. Miracled bourbon always tasted like piss compared to the real thing, but it would have to make do if he wanted to drown himself appropriately—

A powerful demonic aura more brutal than the unforgiving strength of ocean waves flooded the hallway in that instance, nearly pushing the serpent back and ripped a gasp from his throat. His nerves buzzed at the sensation, snapping his head up just in time to see something darker than the shadows slip past the edge of the hallway from one corridor to the other. A second too late and he would have missed it. Instinctually, he placed himself back into the shadows of the night and hurried forward with a quick demonic command to the soles of his shoes ensuring no footsteps would be heard.

He rounded the corner in the direction the figure fled, only to find nothing but more empty darkness. Caution paced his every movement as he brought a hand up to lift his spectacles, allowing his eyes to _see_ through the nothingness that hid the most sinister things within its realm.

Just before he thought he was too late, something thumped in the distance around the next corner at the end of the next hallway, it’s echo giving whatever it was away. Crowley hurried forward, flashing his canines when the closer he got to it the more hatred bled from the demonic aura seeping into the air.

It was powerful, whatever it was. And it was moving fast.

But Crowley could be faster. If he dared transform, the speed of his serpent body was unmatched. However, with so many humans near he couldn’t take that chance, so he willed his human legs to carry him with haste.

And _damn_ could this thing move. Crowley practically flew down staircases two to three steps at a time, sharp turns left, right, right, left, until before he realized where he was he was on the main level of the castle near one of the many lounge rooms closer to the more private wings. Odd, the main level of the castle held the most lit areas. If this thing, whatever it was, wanted to remain hidden it would have fled into darker regions. At least, that’s what Crowley would have done, and he was positive he was one of the most demonic beings in this entire estate…or so he first thought.

“ _Where…_?” Perplexing enough, the demonic aura thinned out to almost a lingering afterthought, similar to a scent washing away by rain. But how? Crowley was so certain he was right on this thing’s tail, and then… _poof_. How the _Heaven_ had he lost it so easily?

After a few quick scans of the rooms he allowed his posture to lax somewhat and blinked numbly at what just occurred. He knew what he felt, there was no mistaking it. He was _demon_ , of course he knew what a demonic aura felt like!

The air suddenly opened up with all the magnitude of the earth splitting apart, filling the gap with a piercing scream only a few interlocking rooms away, causing Crowley to startle with an almost painful jolt up his spine, head snapping to the direction of the scream before his feet moved quickly forward, nearly sprinting..

When he came to the hallway which exited one room and led to the entrance to another meters down the stone walls he almost stumbled to a halt.

A basket of laundry was toppled on its side, clothing strewn about the floor around two female servants. Their faces warped in wide-eyed horror and mouths open in silent screams. One woman sprawled on her back looked as though she had been desperately trying to crawl away from whatever scene petrified them from the inside the room, the other on her knees with trembling arms wound around the other woman’s shoulders trying to calm her choked whimpering.

They didn’t notice Crowley’s presence, and with a growl he barked out, “you there! What is going on?!”

When the maid on her knees tore her eyes from the scene ahead of her to Crowley, her eyes were unfocused with terror, a trembling arm raising up to point a finger into the room. The woman on her back brought shaking hands to her mouth and between her hysteric sobs she convulsed as if she were about to spill the contents in her stomach across the floor.

Crowley approached the scene before the maids could answer. When he rushed forward to stand in front of the women, he almost took a step back in shock, his jaw dropping at the blatant display of _gore_ he saw.

Vibrant sprays of blood painted the walls, the fireplace, the furniture, _everything_. In the middle of the room, soaked in an enormous pool of thick crimson laid the remains of a mutilated corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof...
> 
> That argument was really hard to write. :( I had to admit my hands got a little shaky at certain parts. My heart still stings a little T.T
> 
> Very Important! - I made sure to include a lot of plot eggs and foreshadowings in this chapter for what is to come (some maaay have been mentioned more subtly in earlier chapters). Some more noticable than others. Let me know if you think you caught them all ;) 
> 
> All comments are welcome! Let me know what you think so far!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments! They help fuel the creativity to this story, if I'm being completely honest. The Good Omens fandom have been nothing but kind loving individuals, I'm truly blessed to be apart of such a wonderful community. It's been an absolute pleasure writing fanfiction for GO, and the fandom has really been one of the most amazing aspects. If I may be so bold, I'd say Neil Gaiman, Michael Sheen, and David Tennant would agree wholeheartedly and without a doubt to that <3.
> 
> This chapter is quite dialogue and plot heavy, but hopefully the ending makes up for it!
> 
> WARNINGS: semi-graphic description of gore (I made sure to keep it bearable), tobacco use, and strong language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins with some puzzling evidence. Crowley makes a friend, and an enemy. Tensions are high, and a terrifying new development makes a demon pray.

Humans had an interesting way of handling things. To clarify, _interesting_ was a polite way of describing their inability to _listen_ and act appropriately based on what they were instructed. If one was told _‘hey, see that roped off room over there? Something bad happened in there. Best keep away unless you want to lose your appetite for the next week’,_ one would expect them to abide by that warning. But alas, humans were equal parts stubborn and curious creatures, and learned their lessons the hard way.

Crowley, who had been reclining in a chair against one wall of the hallway just outside the aptly named M _urder Room_ for just over an hour watched for the third time as another human came onto the scene with reckless oblivion.

“Dear me,” exclaimed the portly groundskeeper Willard Tuff as he waddled hurriedly toward the scene, his attire rumpled and thrown together clear he was pulled from his bed with the startling news and only had time to grab his breeches and a white button up. The swell of his large belly made sure there was no way he could fasten the ties to his sleeping robe which fluttered behind him.

“You there,” he approached the first staff member he found, his voice already breathless from his venture from the servant quarters, “what is all this about a murder in the castle?” The staff member, a young brunette man, made a concerned face and pointed quietly toward the room tied off by loose twine across the entryway.

Crowley rolled his eyes, head propped back against the wall over the top of the chair. “I wouldn’t go in there yet if I were you, Willard.”

But did he listen? No. They never do.

“I must see to what is causing so much…” his voice trailed off as he struggled his round body through the hanging twine. A few expected seconds later….

“ _Merciful Mother of God!_ ” Came a sickened cry from inside the room shortly before the groundskeeper threw himself out of the room nearly tangling in the twine to escape. He stumbled passed the few people crowded in the hallway before stopping and doubled forward with one chubby hand on his knee for support, the other hand holding a handkerchief over his mouth as he choked.

Crowley graced the man’s presence from his seat with a lazy turn of his head watching him with a lackadaisical expression. “Get an eyeful, did you?”

“Lord Crowley,” the groundskeeper gasped, putting himself back together enough to cast an appalled gaze at the demon. “What the _devil_ happened in there!?”

What the devil indeed. Crowley shrugged, drumming his fingers on the top of his hat perched on his thigh. “Judging by the amount of blatant gore, I’d have to say…brutal murder perhaps?”

“ _Brutal_ is a term better suited for a gundown in the streets,” added the collected voice from their right as a middle-aged man stepped carefully through the twine and into their conversation. An apron coated in splotches of blood was the first thing to catch Crowley’s eye, taking in his appearance from the stained towel in the man’s hands wiping any excess blood from his arms to his shirt sleeves bunched at the elbows. He removed the surgical mask from his face, and the impressive barstool mustache was instantly recognizable. Ah, the physician with the interesting anecdotes.

The man was clean-cut for the most part, or as clean as he _could_ be given the circumstances, from the unphased hardened look in his brown eyes beneath rectangular glasses to the slicked back dirty blond hair. Average build on an average looking man, though his appearance oddly suited his profession; if anyone could _look_ like a doctor, it was him though right now it was hard to tell him apart from a butcher.

“No,” he sighed with a solemn shake of his head, “…brutal is not what I would call what I’ve just seen.”

Willard wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing loud and panicked as he asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Well, what _would_ you call that?”

The physician looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “…I don’t have an answer that would make much sense at the moment, Mr. Tuff.” He blinked tiredly and turned his attention to Crowley.

“May I speak with you privately?”

Crowley nodded. “Of course.” He raised from the chair and placed the top hat on his head, giving a quick nod to the groundskeeper before following the doctor. Unfortunately for Crowley’s stomach the doctor lead them back into the Murder Room, where the suffocating coppery tang of blood assaulted the demon’s heightened senses. Demons were _not_ squeamish, far from it unless it revolved around holy water. Though Crowley had spent more of these past six thousand years on Earth, felt almost spoiled at not having to put up with the array of foul stenches one was accustomed to in Hell.

“Mind your footing,” the doctor warned, “you might step in whatever’s left of him.”

Crowley made a noisy grunt of disgust.

Nothing had changed in here other than a white bedsheet tossed over the corpse, which somehow appeared more horrifying than what remained underneath. _Almost_. Bloody handprints next to the body painted a grave picture of the horrors that occurred earlier that night; a poor attempt to crawl away no doubt. The blood patterns on the nearby sofa meant the victim fell onto the cushions and rolled off to lay in the middle of the floor. The spray patterns high upon the walls, however, those Crowley would have to look at in further detail, because the direction of the splatters was from vastly different angles.

The doctor stopped just short of the bedsheet and looked down. Where humans normally looked at dead bodies with typical remorse or mourn, this man peered down at the blood-seeped shape at his feet like one would another large stack of paperwork thrown on their desk.

“I thought the whole point of this sodding holiday meant I wouldn’t have to work. Mm, memoirs of an overworked doctor, I guess.” He reached his hand underneath the apron to pull out a small metal box, opening the clasp to grab a thin cigarette and matches before tucking it back into his chest pocket. The eventual stream of burnt matches and tobacco smoke dulled the stench of death in the room.

Crowley was really starting to like this guy.

“Looks like you’ll be pulling in overtime as a coroner, as well.” Crowley mused.

It pulled a muffled guffaw from the doctor. “Couldn’t pay the best coroners in London enough for this shite.”

It was official. Crowley really liked this guy.

“I’m sure a man in your line of work has seen his share of these…whatever the hell _this_ is.” He motioned toward the corpse.

Crowley wasn’t really sure what his line of work entailed to be honest, but he knew to play his part well. “I’ve seen a lot of things that would make a butcher blush,” he conceited falsely but for the sake of information he continued, “though, I wouldn’t say I’ve seen anything like this in a seemingly innocent countryside manor. Care to add in your professional insight, Doctor…?”

“Copper. Thaddeus Copper.” What a name that was. First an impressive mustache, dry humor, and now a ridiculously cool name to boot? What next?

“Well, Doctor Copper, enlighten me if you will just what we have on our hands.”

The doctor gave him a _look_ , as if warning Crowley to brace himself as he leaned down and lifted the bedsheet from the corpse. When he did, it exposed every prying eye into the room with a wave of horrified gasps and cries. A thump from the hallway and someone had most likely passed out. Dr. Copper whirled at the onlookers in the doorway. “If you can’t stand the sight of it, clear out! Does no one here understand the proper etiquette of a _crime scene_!? Good _God_ , you people are nuisances!” His bark held no room for argument as people shuffled away from the entry. Like night and day, he turned back to Crowley with a haphazard apologetic shrug.

If Crowley’s heart wasn’t already strictly reserved and currently in guilt-shattered little pieces, he’d half a mind to ask this man out for drinks.

“I’ll use simple terminology to speed this along. If you see where the jugular of the neck was ripped out, and the right calf, right pectoral, left bicep, and right lower abdomen all have puncture marks around the gaping areas.”

Crowley tried to follow as best as he could, telling himself what he was looking at was only a well-picked at lasagna and not the remains of a human to keep his focus steady. Thank Satan he didn’t have a strong appetite for lasagna prior to this—

“You understand what I’m showing you?”

“Eh…puncture marks…?”

“ _Teeth_.” The doctor supplied helpfully. “And before you jump to the conclusion of an animal attack, I will have to correct you.”

Hm…oh. _Oh._

Startled, Crowley turned from the corpse to the doctor’s face. His voice intentionally low, “…you mean another human did this?”

The doctor’s unblinking stare confirmed the suspicion without having to vocalize, and that simple realization had Crowley rearing back in shock. Not many mortal actions could shock a demon to such an extent. This knowledge, however, broke the mold.

Unfortunately, the doctor continued. “No blunt trauma indicating an object was used is present. The bruising and scratches here, here, and here,” he pointed to certain areas of the body, “are from nails—fingernails. This man was attacked. Judging from the direction of the scratches, the attack was head on, full frontal in the beginning.”

“There is one thing about all this that completely throws me off.” Dr. Copper continued absentmindedly, obviously not noticing the utter disgust warping Crowley’s face. “Is the incision line on the left abdomen, here.” He pointed at a long clean cut. “At some point in all this, organs were removed.”

And there it was, or should have been, the telltale sign of what organ harvesting meant to a demon.

Demonic ritual.

But Crowley would put that one in his pocket for later investigation, instead throwing out a different observation to the doctor.

“You suspect cannibalism, good doctor?” He tested, serpent eyes behind dark lenses analyzed Dr. Copper’s facial expressions for any sign of agreement or doubt, and what he found instead was almost comical.

Throwing the sheet back over the body, Dr. Copper stood to full height and took a long smooth drag from his cigarette. “I have many speculations, but I’m a simple physician not an officer of the law. Best I can do for your lot is point out the medical facts that will assist you putting together a story.”

That made sense—wait.

“My lot? My story?”

He must have said something very amusing, for it ripped a loud laugh from Dr. Copper, who motioned as if he was about to clap a blood-smeared hand on Crowley’s shoulder but instantly thought better of it and instead wagged a blood-smeared finger at him.

“They said you wouldn’t have much a sense for humor.” Who said that? “That was a good one. Sorry mate, looks like you may have more work cut out for you than I do.” With a humorous shake of his head the doctor turned to exit the room with Crowley following closely behind.

What did the doctor mean by that? His story…he wasn’t a mystery book writer, why the heaven would he have to do anything? _His_ lot, what in the world did that mean—and when it finally dawned on Crowley, he almost let out the most powerful groan of all groans in the history of groaning.

He was a member of the Queen’s Guard, after all, and that meant he was the closest thing to law enforcement here. _Meaning_ this whole mess would be bestowed upon his shoulders to solve and bring justice so sorely sought by the humans hungry for closure and safety and that only meant more work and more paperwork and lengthier reports and a longer stay at this infernal castle and, and….

“Fuck.”

If he wasn’t an ancient ethereal being who tempted the first human to eat the first apple in the first garden at the dawn of creation, why, he would have thrown a groundbreaking tantrum.

When they crossed the twine blocking the entrance, there was a considerable amount of commotion in the hallway that was not there prior. Crowley’s long strides evenly paced himself with the doctor’s shorter steps, and both doctor and demon watched as a small crowd of people gathered in animated discussion. Two older looking servants, the sweaty unmistakable cherry face of an exasperated Willard Tuff, the slimy looking butler standing rigid and eerily stoic, and a man clad in luxuriously black and burgundy silk evening wear giving the impression he’d been called away from his fine glass of brandy, tobacco pipe, and book of memoirs in front of his lavishly warm fire and bearskin rug to be told of a grizzly murder.

He looked like a prick, and a familiar one at that. Once they got closer to the group, Crowley recognized those dimpled cheeks anywhere. Heat began to pool in his stomach and carried into his lungs. If he were a dragon, the flames from his nostrils would have already incinerated this entire wing of the castle.

Where fire raged, ice chilled his blood as memories surfaced to the forefront of his mind of earlier in the night, watching as his angel chattered away with someone leagues below deserving of her time and attention, of a thoughtless anger which spewed hurtful nothings at the most important being in his entire life, more important than his own wretched life.

Oh, what lovely timing. Of all the faces in this castle to show themselves in the middle of a gruesome crime scene, why _him_?

As if the doctor could hear his internal grumbling, an elbow nudged to Crowley’s side drew his attention to the man at his left and a side glance confirmed apparently he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t thrilled to see the newcomers.

“Gives me the creeps, that one.”

Dr. Copper was quickly becoming someone Crowley could easily jest with. “Who, the butler? My thoughts exactly. Too pale, too slimy for his own good.”

“Him too.” The doctor chuckled under his breath and nodded forward. “But nah, the one next to’em. Not sure what I was expecting when they introduced me to the owner of this place, but it wasn’t him that’s for sure.”

It took too long to put those words together, and it felt like a stone had dropped to the pit of Crowley’s stomach to just barely falter his walk. Expression steeled to block out any emotion from bleeding onto his face. But behind blackout lenses, serpent eyes grew large and small black scales transformed the skin around his eyes. A deep breath and a long exhale willed the scales back into flesh. _Breath, Crowley._ He repeated over, and over in his head. _Not now, way too much paperwork for all the miracles._

To add insult to injury, the moment the crowd spotting their approach, all eyes were now on him and the doctor including the lavishly dressed castle owner. Eyes the color of amber locked straight onto Crowley, and if the buzzing nerves under his skin was anything like what Aziraphale felt at the party it only made the sting of their argument burn more. He knew it was not this man that had hurt his angel this night, oh no he knew which pompous entitled rotten waste of a Windsor head _dared_ threaten what was his—what was his?—and make Aziraphale’s foundation look so fragile and shaken before Crowley swooped in with the finishing blow.

“You must be Anthony Crowley.” It was a quick, confident statement from the amber-eyed man who pushed past Willard and Creepy Butler to stand a little _too_ close to cordial with an offended hand already extended and at the ready. Crowley stared at the man, at his hand, then back at him with the same impassive silence which grew to be almost too awkward for the humans to bear. Willard wrung his hands nervously as his eyes looked back and forth between the two anxiously, the butler managing to crack his stonelike exterior with a quirked brow. Dr. Copper on the other hand, looked as though he didn’t much care if anyone saw the amused smirk under that impressive mustache.

Okay, perhaps Crowley got his point across. He finally returned the handshake with a firm grip of his own. Maybe he put a little too much demonic strength into the grip, and maybe he didn’t.

“You must be—”

“Alphaeus Gastrell, the proprietor of—”

“—how biblical.” Crowley cut him off, still digesting the name. The man blanched slightly, then offered a curt smile.

“Mother was always very devout in her beliefs.” He supplied cheerfully. That’s what they all say.

“Anthony, Willard tells me there’s been a…quite a _gruesome_ discovery in one of my lounge rooms.”

Their handshake was still going strong between them. Neither seemed to notice.

Alphaeus continued with dimpled smile still intact. “I’ve made sure to close off all routes leading off the grounds as soon as this was brought to my attention,”—as soon, or sooner than?—“I sent a team of my vassals out to alert the guests they will be staying in their quarters until we determine their safety among the grounds. We will provide all necessary information to your investigation, Sir, including the list of invited families with full names and a headcount of those who attended and those who did not attend.”

“Quick thinking, Lord Gastrell—”

“ _Duke._ ”

Crowley twitched. “Pardon?”

“ _Duke_ Gastrell,” Alphaeus corrected quickly, the hand that was not currently locked into a battle of stronger grips waved passively. “We just met, so no harm done! Everyone gets it wrong from time to time. But it _is_ Duke Alphaeus Gastrell.” His head tilted to the side and a _sweet_ smile that would have charmed anyone else shined brightly with perfect teeth.

“…right. Thank you for that, _Your Grace._ ”

Oh, so it was going to be like that then. Crowley could play along tit for tat. The handshake was not so much of a handshake anymore as it was now a cordial battle of death-grips.

“As I was saying, quite impressively quick measures you’ve taken to secure the area, Your Grace. It’s almost as if you've done this before.” It was the demons turn to tilt his head and mimic a toothy sweet smile of his own, allowing a few small chuckles to slip past gritted teeth.

And this was when things started to get _really_ interesting.

In those quick infinitesimal seconds, a genuine subconscious emotional response often held the most truths to one’s feelings or intentions. He made sure to always be on the lookout for those, as when humans chose to wear their heart on their face it was a beautiful flaw Crowley took advantage of.

The sharp look that passed over Alphaeus’ face was quicker gone than it had appeared, accompanied by an equally quick set of his jaw. The comment was only meant as a playful jeer, the tone it was presented in made that evident, so the first reaction before the second would go straight into Crowley’s pocket for later.

The second reaction was a returned chuckle. “Ah, yes it would appear that way, hah. I should really praise such quick-witted action to my butler,” without breaking eye contact he nodded back at Creepy Butler, “Protz has served my family for manner years. When you live in such large estates like this, _anything_ can happen. He’s seen his share of incidents in his life. Isn’t that right, Protz?”

Protz acknowledged the question with a grunt.

“See? Clever old Protz. To be honest, we haven’t received the best welcoming from the neighbors when we purchased the estate. Family lineages run through these hills as old as the rivers, so you can imagine a new face may not be warmly received at first. We’ve had to…plan cautiously.”

“Though,” Alphaeus continued, “I expected more of a decapitated animal at our doorstep being the unsightliest housewarming gift. Certainly not… _this_.”

“So you think one of the neighbors has something to do with this?” Crowley challenged it, applying something he’d taken from Aziraphale’s book; rephrasing a comment, question, or statement back at the person to expose any logical fallacy. The tactic didn’t disappoint, as a cleared throat from someone nearby—he hoped it was Thaddeus—was more than just a cleared throat.

“I…,” and oh, how Crowley enjoyed watching him flounder, “it would be…a bold accusation, I can admit.” Alphaeus looked down at his feet, then looked back up as if finding some renewed confidence in his loafers. “I trust your _experience_ in this field would lead **_all of us_** ,” the bastard, announcing it to the entire room grabbing everyone’s attention, “to bring justice to this atrocity! You’ve served the Queen so… _diligently_ for so many years, what is one request from a humble Duke in comparison?”

Shit, Crowley walked right into that one. He felt the stares of everyone in the hallway then, hot and intrusive like grubby hands on his corporation.

But Crowley was not about to be bested by this rich little pompous man, not when he’s stared literal Death in the face—who, to be fair was not as wicked as their reputation implied, and could drink Crowley under the table without breaking a sweat, _literally_ —and if Alphaeus had any idea who he was talking to, the man would have surely pissed himself in fright by now. Perhaps, after everything was said and done and the assignment was completed, he would reward himself a nice little visit back to this estate in his serpent form for some fun—

A strength like the demon had not expected threatened to crush his hand, and a forceful tug forward nearly threw Crowley off his feet. Before he had any clue as to what just happened, Alphaeus was suddenly _very_ close, almost cheek to cheek as the Duke’s hushed whisper brought Crowley back to present.

“ _We wouldn’t want anyone else getting hurt, would we? Especially not someone you may have a fondness for here in my castle…a sweet little maid neither of us want the same tragic fate for…wouldn’t you agree?”_

The time to throw caution to the wind and freeze reality with a simple nod and will was now, as black spots began to appear at the edges of Crowley’s sight threatening something deep, deep and dark within him to resurface; a part of himself he hadn’t allowed a proper reunion with since the moment he dragged his boiled carcass from that pool of sulfur so long ago, to see the true essence of himself he’d become after questioning _Her._

His fingers twitched and begged to unleash claws pleading to wrap around this man’s fragile throat and watch the life drain from his eyes. How dare anyone threaten somethi— _someone_ so precious to him, it made his most sinful essence scream to break out of its millennia-old prison and unleash a scorn this world had never before witnessed, starting with the complete decimation of these stone walls.

A silent breath helped differentiate the part of him he lived with everyday from the part of him Lucifer so graciously gifted to him after his exile from Heaven, and Crowley wasn’t sure if that was more for himself, Aziraphale, or the innocent humans around him that did not deserve such blind wrath. It was odd how hard that was to tamper down lately. He’d already uncharacteristically lost his temper on his best friend only hours ago, he wouldn’t stoop lower.

Alphaeus took his silence for obedience with a smug chuckle in his ear. “ _Good dog. Now laugh as if I just said something rather hilarious.”_ It seemed time resumed its normal pace without any demonic intervention, leaving Crowley dazed and confused with a few pitiful huffs in attempt to laugh, which were completely drowned by the uproarious laughter from the Duke. As their handshake resumed normalcy with a more exaggerated shake, another hand flew to the demon’s shoulder and clapped excitedly.

“Am I right or am I right?” Alphaeus joked with an obviously fake laugh, others around the area laughing only because the mood seemed fitting. The eternal handshake was finally over as their hands retracted with a mutual step back.

Unfortunately, Crowley would have to wait to process what had just happened, because a young male servant boy suddenly burst into the hallway from around the corner, drawing the attention of everyone nearby with his frantic shouts.

“Duke Gastrell!” The boy cried between panicked breaths, his youthfully thin body heaving the air in and out of his lungs hungrily. “Your Grace—Your Grace….”

“Young Byron!” Alphaeus directed his bravado at the boy in astonishment. “What ails you, my boy?” He questioned insistently like the caring genuine soul he clearly was not.

“The...,” he gulped in another hungry fill of air, “the guests, Your Grace, six-sixty-two accounted for in their rooms…m-minus the one attacked—”

“Out with it, Byron!” Willard cried.

“There are two children missing! Every room, we checked. The maid, she…she had put them to bed early last night, but…but when we checked just now, they were gone! Their parents had not seen them either. The maid, she…she ran off to find them before we could stop her, Your Grace!”

_Two children…_

Crowley never begged _Her_ for anything before, not an ounce of remorse or a shred of pity. Now, however, he was not so sure he could stop the small silent prayer from slipping through his mind to drift up to seemingly deaf ears.

“Children? From what family?” Dr. Copper added, breaking his passive streak for genuine concern.

_Please…please don’t be them._

Why Crowley ever thought _his_ prayers would be heard and answered was a miracle on it’s own.

“The Windsor children. Maurielle and Charles Windsor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's not good.
> 
> More hints and foreshadowings hidden throughout the chapter. If anyone has any suspicions or theories, I'd love to hear them! Let me know what you think in the comments!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too late to say Happy 30th Anniversary to Good Omens! I am on number seven of times I have watched the Lockdown, and do not plan to stop <3 And I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to thank you all individually for commenting on the last chapter, I'm so glad you are all enjoying it so far! I love reading all the wonderful feedback, you guys are seriously awesome!
> 
> This chapter came out more angsty than I anticipated, and lots of feels guys get ready.
> 
> WARNING: strong language, scary themes and vague depictions of gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The wise never doubt. The Humane never worry. The brave never fear.”  
> ― Confucius, The Analects

If the castle appeared large and expansive by the average adult, one could only imagine the amplifications from the perception of a small child. What extended past the boundaries of understanding remained lost to an underdeveloped mind where imagination and exaggeration ran rampant.

The soft patter of little footsteps left no echo in the quiet darkness as Maurielle ventured through the unknown around her. It was dark, it was quiet, and very scary. The porcelain-headed baby doll clutched to her chest served as her only security and kept the loneliness at bay. Her best friend since before she could speak, Abbigail was her most loyal companion.

What first began as an angry venture to her nanny’s comfort to sooth her brother’s antagonizing comments quickly became a game of chase when her trip was interrupted by the quiet croak at the end of the hallway before tiny knuckles could rap on the door to Miss Fell’s room.

Curious, mystified, she stared at the little frog as if her sleep-addled mind was playing a trick on her. In the dim flickering hue of the gaslit lamps there was no mistaking the very real bulgy eyes staring back at her. How easy it was to enrapture a child’s attention, that all prior intentions were lost on the new discovery.

“Little frog,” Maurielle called out in a tiny voice, “are you lost?”

The frog croaked.

Maurielle frowned. “Little frog, do you need to find your Mummy?”

The frog croaked again.

The child gulped, her fingers tightening their hold on her doll. With a quick glance to Abbigail for confirmation, she blinked back up at the frog. “Don’t be scared. We can help you find her.” She turned, and after a few steps forward the frog leaped away out of sight. To a child’s imagination, that meant the frog accepted her help and would lead the way. All she needed to do was keep up.

“Wait, little frog. Wait for me!”

Down the corridors she hurried after him, taking the staircases two-feet at a time with a hand secured to the railing slowed her down and farther from the trail, so she hurried without knowing just where she was until any familiarity of her surroundings were gone. It reminded her of one of her favorite characters, Alice, and though she would much prefer chasing after a white bunny, Miss Fell had taught her that all creatures big and small, cute and ugly, deserved the same amount of love and attention.

Her fear began to grow, realizing too late her actions may have not been the wisest. Frustration quickly mingled with fear and grew to despair. Tears began to sting her eyes, but if she cried now no one would hear her.

She blinked away the sting. She needed to be brave; brave like a Princess of the Round Table. How could she protect her people if she couldn’t even help a frog find his home? She needed to keep going. Maybe the little frog was just as scared and lost as she was? She thought of what Alice would do if she were here. Alice was so brave.

Maybe if she could prove her braveness, Mummy and Daddy would be proud of her.

And Miss Fell would be proud too, and the mere thought of her approving smile and warm apple tarts kept her going through the unknown.

-:-

Charlie already knew he was in _so much_ trouble.

Thoughts of a spanking, tongue lashing, disappointed stares, and no apple tarts for a _week_ threw the lanky young boy from the covers of his bed to slip quietly from the room where Maurielle had exited moments ago, barely managing to put his slippers on as he rushed out in search of his baby sister.

“ _Maurielle!_ ” He hissed down the dimly lit hallway. She was small, and could not have gotten far, but the emptiness of the hallway on either side proved that theory wrong. He considered knocking on Mother and Father’s bedroom door, and immediately dismissed that option. That never went well. He knew he could always wake Miss Fell; she would help. She always helped.

However, if he were to find Maurielle, apologize for teasing her, and slip them both back into their shared bedroom without anyone knowing, he wouldn’t get in trouble. What a brilliant idea! No spanking, no scolding, and apple tarts! It was a win-win.

He hurried down the hallway hopefully in the direction of his sister. The castle was _huge_ , and Maurielle was so little and sensitive to everything, he’d probably find her in a corner somewhere crying. The thought brought a feeling of guilt. Charlie was the first born, the _elder_ , he should have known better. But he could fix that; find his little sister, and bravely coax her out of her fright and back into the safety of their room.

Charlie would protect her. He always did, he always would.

He just needed to find her, first.

-:-

This was bad.

Very bad.

More than bad, this hopped on a train and sped past _bad_ at breakneck speed.

Speaking of speed; Aziraphale did not run, that was a genuine fact. Never needed to, never wanted to.

But right now, she was dam near sprinting through the corridors, lungs working overtime and then some. Her thoughts seemed to run even _faster_ on a never-ending cycle of what-ifs and only the worst possible scenarios. Thank _everything_ she had changed out of that horridly tight black dress and into her normal attire, because it would have been impossible to move as quick as she was currently.

 _Everything happened so fast_. To be honest, there was a five-maybe ten-minute period of complete blur after she answered the knock on her door after waking up from a light sleep—yes, _sleep_ , for the first time in as long as she could remember she felt tired enough to close her eyes only briefly—only to come back to herself taking off down the hallway with the young vassal’s frantic shouts trailing after her, not bothering to wait for Charles and Charlotte to rouse from their drunk slumber and fumble for their night robes in the dark.

There was a murder in the castle. The murderer was still on the loose. And her— _the_ children were nowhere to be seen. The cold dread of seeing empty beds in the moonlight through the window still sat heavy in her chest.

“Maurielle! Charlie!” Every corner, a panicked call as eyes scanned every square inch wildly hoping, _praying_ , for a young face or small frame, ears sharp for any noise or cry or _anything please just something._

She practically flew across flights of stairs. In a distant ethereal plain of another dimension her wings twitched in an unspoken offer for assistance and it was the most tempting offer she’d been given all day. But the world had already gone to shit and she wasn’t about to add a _white-winged maid flying through the halls_ on top of it all.

 _“Please, Lord,_ ” she managed between panicked breaths and throwing as much divine force into the words to strengthen the channel of communication above. _“You....you trusted me to protect them. I will not fail you…I will not fail you….”_ The angry scorn of Charles and Charlotte would be significant, even though she knew well she had done nothing wrong, but rationality was not a word in their vocabulary. But the flash of disappointed lavender eyes felt like a worse fate.

 _Remember, Aziraphale._ Memories plagued her mind of when she first accepted the job. _Climb every mountain, cross every stream…even if that means the rockiest terrains and strongest currents. I know you need no further reminding; we all want God’s will carried out without fault. To disappoint The Almighty is to disappoint **us all**_.

She shivered at the memory, almost misplacing her foot on the last step of the staircase and would have hit the ground hard if it weren’t for grip on the hand railing at the last second. The shiver traveled to her knees and they trembled when she steadied herself. She shook Gabriel’s voice out of her head. Now was not the time to obsess over meaningless distractions.

In the deafening silence of the night, save for the her quick breaths, echoed a faint sound of what Aziraphale could only describe as _haunting;_ a rumbling growl from an animal the angel had never heard before, but it was unmistakably distinct; from the bowels of the dark castle beyond to quickly fade out of existence. Launching herself forward, Aziraphale rushed headfirst into the direction the growl came from, blinded by the overwhelming wave of demonic energy that suddenly flooded the air, constricting around her throat tight enough to strangle, seeping into her bones and filling them with lead. Was this what it was like to run through water? She would definitely make sure never to do that in future.

“ _Give me strength, my Lord._ ” The small prayer seemed to ward off just enough of the miasma-like energy. It could invade every inch of the shadows but would never penetrate her divine faith which beamed brighter than a raging fire in the ethereal plain. Or it usually did…the dimming flickers did not go unnoticed. She quickly dismissed it as exhaustion from the day’s events.

“ _Heaven and Almighty guide my light, pure, bright, through this night that I show no fault.”_

-:-

“Abbigail, I’m starting not to like that little frog....”

The doll’s painted lips didn’t have to say it for Maurielle to know she agreed with her. The rooms were not as dark anymore, but they were much larger. Through a child’s eyes, it might as well have been a wonderland of different worlds with the many different tapestries, ornaments, paintings, furniture…everything but people.

It felt like forever since she’d seen the frog, that rude little green monster who had made her run all over just to get her lost. “Ugly little frog.” Her small button nose crunched in annoyance. It was better to be angry than scared right now, because being scared made everything worse. And she was supposed to be brave, like Alice….

As mad as Maurielle wanted to be at the frog, she was young enough _and_ old enough to know she was angrier at herself. Had she stayed in her bed and stuck her nose up at Charlie’s stupid ghost stories-or as Miss Fell would say, _turn the other cheek, dear_.

“Miss Fell…?” Maurielle said no louder than a mouse’s whisper, as soft a tone as her prayers before bed. She didn’t believe she would hear a reply, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t have been one at all. She would give anything if someone could just find her. “Charlie? Miss Fell?” She tried again, and nothing but silence.

Tears pooled above her bottom lashes, her little eyebrows scrunching with a building cry. She wanted soft loving arms to hold her in a warm embrace and tell her it was going to be alright. She wanted to shut her eyes and open them to a story of pirate ships and Trojan warriors as Miss Fell's gentle voice read to her into a peaceful sleep. She wanted her Mummy of course, all Maurielle ever wanted was for her Mummy to know she was okay. But she wanted Miss Fell for comfort, who always fussed with her hair and who always encouraged her to hold her little chin up high and keep going.

“…Miss—”

Something dropped and clanged along the ground in the next room, nearly startling the girl hard enough to pop Abbigail’s head off. Maybe someone heard her? Charlie! Or Miss Fell, she didn’t care. She picked up the pace and pattered softly into the room, around the edge of a lush sofa to the middle in front of the massive fireplace.

An old copper vase rolled across the floor, and whatever it was that caused it to move shuffled around on all fours. Strange...people didn’t walk around on all fours, so why this man was scavenging around like a dog was frightening, and enough to freeze Maurielle where she stood.

The strange man turned around slowly, not seeing her at first and when he finally spotted her he growled like an animal.

-:-

Charlie didn’t believe in ghosts. Only babies and old nuns believed in them, and that is just the sort of eleven-year old logic he was quite proud of. Nothing went bump in the night except stray animals, everyone knew that. This castle just happened to be spooky because…well, castles were just spooky. That’s just the way it was.

He didn’t believe in ghosts, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t chilled to the bone by random noises. Every creak, every eerie howl of wind, and when an old grandfather clock sang like a church bell at three o’clock sharp Charlie tripped over his own slipper.

Maybe he should have knocked on Miss Fell’s door. At this point he’d go _two_ weeks without apple tarts if he could just find—

A noise coming from the other side of the wall grabbed the boy’s attention, and when he rushed forward into the next room it was almost too good to be true. Maurielle was standing near the fireplace, right there! “ _Maurielle_! There you are-d’you know how long it took me t’find you? All night...hey?” Charlie had never seen his little sister look so pale before, she looked sick. And staring at something ahead of her with a blank look on her face.

“…Elle?” He used to call her that all the time when they were smaller. Not so much nowadays, but when he did it would always get her attention. When he finally reached her he put a hand on her shoulder and felt how badly it trembled. “…what’s wrong….”

A snarl from his left ripped a small cry from the boy’s mouth, whipping around to face a wild looking man clad in shreds of clothing which hung from his weathered body in tatters. His hair mussed and dirty, his teeth clenched, and saliva dripped down his chin. Dark smears painted his sweaty skin and turned the filthy remains of his blouse a horrifying deep red. The man looked scuffed, but it was obvious the blood did not belong to him.

Charlie shifted one arm slowly to the right and back to ease Maurielle behind him and out of view until he was between them. Inch by inch his thin frame eased back, feet sliding quietly to the side of one of the exits and forcing his little sister to mimic him.

If they could only get a few more feet they could make a run out the door and shut it to delay the crazed man, who crouched lower to the ground and watched them with a hollow stare. Faster than the crack of a whip he snapped forward and let out a horrifying snarl.

The children stopped moving, Maurielle letting out a cracked whimper behind her brother who kept his tearful eyes forward and reached back to squeeze his little sister’s arm.

“ _Don’t b-be scared,”_ he managed to whisper through a chattering jaw, “ _I-I’m here, Elle….”_

He felt her smaller hand cover his and squeeze back.

Shouts echoed into the room from down the hall as voices grew louder. Adults, and a lot of them by the sound of it. A whole group of people by the sounds of hastily approaching footfalls. Charlie almost sobbed.

The crazed man glanced at the direction of the noise, his lips peeling back to snarl again.

“ _…it’s coming from this way! That room over there!_ ”

“ _It could be the children!_ ”

“ _Hurry on!_ ”

When a tall dark presence appeared at the doorway they stopped immediately, blocking others from entering the room with a long arm shot out to stop them. Charlie wanted to see who it was, but that required taking his eyes off the thing in front of him, and it wasn’t so much he didn’t want to as it was more the fear would not permit him to.

The crazed man snarled at the men crowded in the doorway, crawling back with an ugly snarl.

“ _Jesus Christ, what is that?_ ” A horrified gasp came from one of the people outside the door

 _“Quiet. No one move._ ” Hissed the tall dark dressed man in front.

-:-

The phrase _killing two birds with one stone_ was always one of Crowley's favorite mottos; whatever made the job easier he was all for.

Sadly, he couldn’t say he was enthralled with discovering both the missing children as well as the obvious culprit to the grizzly mauling _in the same room_. The children were dangerously close to this deranged human, their little bodies shivering and tearful eyes glued to the monster in front of them. The demon felt an instinctual hiss try to slip past his lips at realizing the horror of their situation.

Children so young shouldn’t have been exposed to such a sight. The way this man crept along the floor on all fours, it was like looking at a feral beast. His eyes were large, pupils blown, and the disoriented stare confirmed he was so far gone from reality there was no telling where this man thought he was, if he was even able to.

Dried crusted blood stuck to his face, coating his foaming mouth which snarled threateningly at them like a cornered animal warning an oncoming attack, and that was the last thing Crowley needed right now.

He took one step forward, yellow eyes glancing at the petrified children only feet away from him, frowning deeper when he took in the boy’s ashen complexion and tear streaked face.

“ _Oi, lad,_ ” he whispered to the boy-Charlie, “ _psst, boy. Can you move?_ ”

Charlie opened his trembling mouth, and the only noise he made was a frightened hiccup.

“ _I know this sounds mad, but listen to me. I need you to step slowly this way. Can you do that?_ ”

“…I…,” he hiccupped again, “I can’t—”

Poor child was beyond terrified. Crowley didn’t blame him one bit.

“ _It’s alright,_ ” his whisper softened at the edges, “ _it’s okay to be scared. But I need you and your sister to move toward me. Very. Slowly. You can do it._ ”

The brunette boy closed his mouth to cut off a sob, lips wobbling and tears streaming down his pale cheeks. The only movement he could muster was a shake of his head.

The man—if one could call him a man at this point—let out another mindless bark, foamy saliva flying out of his mouth as he crawled a few feet closer, his taught bloodstained limbs crouched in awkward angles. If Crowley could let out a snarl of his own he would, warning it to back the _fuck_ up. His blood began to burn with a surge of emotion, protective instincts kicking into next gear. He wouldn’t let this thing harm the children. Aziraphale, she would _say_ she forgave him but he wasn’t sure she could ever mean it. And he also knew he would never be able to forgive himself.

“ _Charlie…_ ,” serpent eyes flickered back and forth from the man to the children, “ _…listen to me, lad. It’s okay to be afraid, but I need to you to be brave for me. Yeah? Need you to move toward my voice. …I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”_

The promise made the boy finally break his stare and turn his head an inch, eyes glancing to the side to finally see Crowley, and the look in those eyes twisted the demon’s heart painfully. It meant a promise he needed to keep.

It was the worst possible time for the distant shout from down the hall to break the immersion of the room. The shout of a worried parent he couldn't fault, it was just the _timing_ ….

“ _Charles!? Maurielle!?”_ The frightened cry of a panicked mother. Charlotte rushed toward the group frozen at the entryway.

Nothing like a mother’s cry to bring life into petrified children. Charlie and Maurielle finally reacted with heads turned toward the call.

“Mother!” Charlie screamed, and it triggered the next chain of actions that Crowley would claim for centuries to come as the most horrifying and utterly amazing set of events he’d ever witnessed.

The possessed man roared a wet guttural sound from deep in his throat, thighs launching him into a wild sprint, lips curled and teeth bare charging directly toward the children. “Shit!” Crowley shouted, a split second decision in his mind to throw any and all protocol to the wind these humans were just going to have deal with his true form, or freeze time enough to send this possessed creature to the pits of Hell where it needed to be.

Time and space suddenly slowed in front of Crowley’s eyes, and he couldn’t remember telling it to. His thumb and middle finger had just met, but he knew he hadn’t snapped yet. He watched in shock as Charlie threw himself back into Maurielle with a hand outstretched to protect her. Maurielle’s mouth opened as wide as her eyes in a silent scream, her little hand clutching the doll to her chest with one hand and the other clasped to her brother’s tightly. The screams and shouts erupting behind Crowley were lost to the beating drum in his ears.

What came next was the amazing part.

Before Crowley could move, a flash of white rushed forward until a figure emerged in the middle of the fray in a flurry of crème fabric and long blond curls. A body standing straight and grounded in the line of attack served as a solid and impenetrable shield in front of the children.

Any demonic aura bleeding out of the room dissolved from static charge, small sparks of lightning in Crowley’s ethereal eye crackled and hissed, and it was at that moment the demon knew if he snapped his fingers now they would engulf the sinner he was into a ball of flames.

_Aziraphale_

Standing firm and unyielding like the Guardian she always was, the angel seemed completely unfazed by the man getting closer and closer, his mouth now gaping open and a shrill scream directed at her in what he couldn’t make out as either blind anger or fear.

Aziraphale’s only answer was a raised arm, palm flat and fingers splayed as if to stop the maniac. _Are you mad? Move!_ Crowley wanted to shout, but he was too mesmerized to do anything of the sort.

With a voice that rumbled like the mightiest quake flooded the room and synced with the angelic ringing of her divine call, Aziraphale _commanded_.

**“Renounce thyself _.”_**

In the ethereal plain, Aziraphale was brighter than the sun. In the ethereal plain, fortunately a sight blind to the humans, millions of eyes swirling gold and vibrant sapphire opened as if they were made of the very fabric of existence in the walls, the furniture, the floor, everywhere, to stare at the man’s corrupt soul with damnation and judgement, unforgiving to the audacity of this creature to even _dare_ bring harm to those under the Principality’s protection.

Crowley should have been as petrified as the children had been while watching the monster advance on them. It was only logical that any demon, this serpent included, would have curled away from the divine power in the room. And a rational part of him wanted to, and he would have had it been any other angel. But Aziraphale, bestowing only a fraction of the power her essence was truly capable of, was the epitome of beauty and strength. He watched on, unblinking, in awe.

The possessed man, in all his bloodlust-driven momentum, collapsed lifelessly to the ground in front of Aziraphale in mid-sprint, face hitting the carpet first as his boneless frame followed like a ragdoll behind him, skid to a halt mere feet from where the angel stood. The millions of eyes closed out of existence, and the unbearable static heat calmed to a steady lull. The blazing inferno of angelic wrath dimmed, leaving the room in complete silence.

With a quiet breath, Aziraphale turned her head slowly until her attention was at Crowley and the mass of shocked onlookers behind him, looking but not focused, seeing only the full volume of souls and nothing more.

Her eyes glowed with the same color and intensity of her million-eyed stare, and the demon knew she wasn’t conscious enough in that moment to differentiate him from the rest.

_“This man succumbed to his exhaustion and fainted. Nothing more.”_

Crowley felt the stinging heat of Heaven’s command on his skin, his human brain urging him to believe the forced manipulation while the demonic part of him kindled at the familiarity. Why those sodding archangels ever doubted this breathtakingly passionate, recklessly sweet soul was one of eternity’s greatest mysteries. He watched the holy glow fade to normal in Aziraphale’s eyes, the static charge in the air now a memory.

After a long pause, and a high-pitched cry broke the spell. It grew in volume until it seemed like everyone present suddenly came back to themselves.

Crowley dropped his arms to his sides limply. Aziraphale looked like someone completely different when she turned around and finally acknowledged what was going on.

“Let me through!” Cried Charlotte, clad in her night robe and appearance shaken, maneuvered through the group quickly and at the sight of her children let out shaky breath with open arms.

“Oh, my darling Maurielle….”

There was no doubt the little girl would run to her mother then, but that did not happen. Her cries now elevated to hysterical screams, she dropped the doll and lunged for Aziraphale’s dress, fisting the fabric and muffling her face. She tugged at her maid’s dress, and something about that sight broke Charlie into a fit of sobs.

Charlotte must have noticed, because she said nothing further after that and lowered her arms. Crowley almost felt bad, but perhaps the human was learning a lesson here; when your frightened children would rather seek comfort from their maid than their own mother, there was damn sure something to take from that.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to acknowledge Charlotte’s presence and dropped to her knees in front of the children, wrapping one arm around Maurielle and pulling her into a tight embrace as the child cried into her chest, Aziraphale's other arm reaching out to cup a hand to Charlies cheek. Her thumb wiped the tears leaking down his face, fingers around the back of his head comforting and firm as she held him.

From Crowley’s left, Thaddeus nudged past him and waved his hand forward at the rest of the men. “I’ll need some help restraining him.” And the room erupted in a flurry of movement and words but the demon couldn’t take his eyes off his angel and her frightened flock.

“It’s alright now,” Aziraphale kept saying, “it’s going to be okay. It’s over.”

Charlie tried to speak through his hiccupping sobs. “Mi..Miss Fell I-I’m _sorry..._ ”

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for, dear.” Aziraphale cooed, “do not blame yourself, I simply won’t have it. You were strong and so very brave, dear boy.” Charlie cried harder, and she continued to hold his head up to look her in the eyes. “Protecting your sister, facing that…with such courage—”

“—‘was so scared—”

“—even the most noble Knights will admit they’re bravery is born from fear….it’s okay to be scared,” she welcomed his embrace as the boy buried his head in her shoulder.

Crowley had never felt a love so deep for anything like he did watching Aziraphale hold those two like they were her own, pouring all the love she could into them and around them. Demons weren’t supposed to see this and react this way, but he was never a proper demon and if he had to choose between the former or the later, he would never be one.

A selfish impulse overcame him suddenly, itching in his veins.

He wanted to be apart of it, of what he was watching. He didn’t want to sit and stare from the sidelines in wonder, because if he did that’s all he would be able to take away from it and for once he was tired of feeling like he deserved to be on the sidelines.

With confident steps, he walked up to them and had no idea what to do so he settled for reaching out a gloved hand to Charlie’s brown locks and ruffled them tenderly, soon getting the attention of the boy, _and_ the angel.

Let it be well known that Crowley didn’t flash his charming for-Aziraphale-eyes-only proud grin, but there were some exceptions to that rule. Few and far between, but he was feeling rather generous.

“Hey,” when he caught the boy’s shy glance, he made sure the kid knew he meant it, “…damn good job you did, kid.” He pulled it back to leave it at that before it got too sappy for his old black demon heart to handle. Shaded eyes lifted to meet Aziraphale’s, and it was unfortunate he couldn’t admire her small smile when he became too preoccupied with trying to remember the last time those blue eyes looked so tired.

So much so the smile fell quickly from Crowley’s face into a deep frown, and he opened his mouth to ask—

“ _Bravery_ Is The _Soul_ of _Wit_!” thundered a deep voice, and for just a split second Crowley almost recoiled when he thought Gabriel had just burst through the door on the highest horse he owned.

But no. It was just that fucking Duke.

With long lean arms and a bravado that could easily match that stuffy purple-eyed pigeon of an archangel, Alphaeus flew into the scene with a booming voice that even stopped the men helping the doctor tie up the unconscious man drooling on the carpet.

The shrill of sobbing children did not seem to phase the man’s speech as he stood on a stage just big enough for his inflated ego.

“ _That_ , everyone, is what we have just seen with our own eyes.” He scanned every face in the room with a wide sweep of his arms. “Because of the selfless, courageous act of one maid, these children will live to see the sunlight of a new day!” It was astonishing how no one seemed to notice how the children cried harder after that last part.

“We should all be grateful for this woman’s heroic act. You, men! Make sure you tighten those ropes on that savage. I kept a few of the original dungeon cells in the bottom levels of the castle for restoration purposes, we can toss this maniac in there until we figure out what to do with him!”

Duke Gastrell turned and Crowley’s hackles raised at the fascinated gaze he gave Aziraphale. He set one large hand on each of her shoulders and gently coaxed her to stand with Maurielle left to bury in the folds of her dress and Charlie sniffling quietly at her side.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” He smiled at her, a proud beaming one with teeth too white and a voice sweeter than honey. It was sickening. 

“…thank you.”

Crowley heard it in the quiver of her voice before he saw what came next, and it was the only warning sign that gave the demon no time before he was diving forward to catch a now unconscious angel as she collapsed in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* goodness, that was a rollercoaster of emotion. I felt so bad for the kids, so I wanted to make sure the part where Aziraphale comforts them was the heartwarming moment we all deserved after that.
> 
> Next chapter we'll get to enjoy a lovely moment between our favorite angel and demon, because we all know they just can't stay mad at each other for too long, at least not in this fic ;)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took me one sitting, and half of it is improvised because I love writing these two so much my heart is literally singing~<3 The funnest ship I've been on board, writing Aziraphale and Crowley is like dancing fingers over a keyboard and you have yourself a fluffy new chapter. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: if you count lots of feelings, more pine than a forest, and enough fluff to stuff a comforter, than be warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two wrongs make a beautiful right. A storm rages outside, and a brewing one unfolds within the castle.

The following morning welcomed a heavy thunderstorm to the day as dark gray clouds consumed the sky above the castle, casting the landscape in a dreary torrential rain. The mood outside ironically matched the same mood within the stone walls, and one more reason for the inhabitants to stay in their rooms or within the public areas inside.

A rumbling thunder stirred Aziraphale from her deep sleep to the surface of hazy consciousness, coming to her senses one by one before she was able to rationally piece together her surroundings.

Warmth and softness welcomed the angel first, which was always a delightful way to come back to reality, especially when the last thing she could remember were frightened cries and utter exhaustion clouding everything else save for the concerning expression of a familiar demon just before the blackness creeped in and took hold.

Laying within the warmth around her, she kept her eyes closed and listened to the sounds around her; the pitter-patter of raindrops on a window nearby, most likely in her guestroom, yet it was the gentle timed breathing around her that coaxed her bleary eyes to flicker open. Save for the dim glow of a rainy day and a gaslit lamp at the end of her bed, the room was dark with a peaceful setting.

Aziraphale would have stretched, had it not been for the weight on either side of her keeping her lightly restrained under the comforter. She blinked the fog away and peered down to see two brown messy-haired heads pillowed by her soft tummy. She watched on with a soft smile as she recognized the two little bedheads snuggled comfortably and soundly asleep. Worrying about the children’s whereabouts were now one less thing on her plate.

Speaking of plates, Lord Above was she feeling peckish….

“…they insisted on staying,” a hushed voice from her left told her, “…tried to argue, but they turned those eyes on me…couldn’t really do much after that….”

Aziraphale recognized that voice instantly. Wiggling only slightly up the bed without disturbing her slumbering little angels, she turned her head and was immediately welcomed by the sight of Crowley’s long lithe frame slouched in a chair next to the bed. His limbs were splayed out ahead of him with one ankle locked over the other, pointed elbows resting on the arms of the chair to overlap hands that twitched absentmindedly across his chest. Gone were the top hat, cloak, and cane which perched quietly and forgotten somewhere in the room.

“…C-Cro _wley_ ….” her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy from unused time, and she wondered just how long she’d been out. “…what…?”

One hand lifted from his chest to card fingers through his flaming locks and hold his head when he turned slightly to look at her. Even with the blackout spectacles, the angel could easily make out the exhausted expression from the stress lines on his thin face.

When he spoke next, Aziraphale did not like the guarded tone she heard from her usual loud and eccentric demon. “…wanted to make sure your corporation didn’t change gender while you were out, can’appen sometimes after….like a sleep’r something….”

Whether or not he was looking at her, she nodded quietly in understanding. Explained why he was the one watching over her, given that the responsibility would have logically been someone with expert medical experience—

“And I…,” Crowley finally added with significantly lower volume and more mumbling, “…was-was worried…y’know, after all’that….”

 _Oh._ The admission fluttered her heart so much she was not expecting it, and the fluttering did something to ease the resurfaced ache when she remembered the last time they spoke.

Regardless, she couldn’t help the gentle hum from escaping with her sigh. “Crowley…”

“You collapsed…n’I caught you, you didn’t….” she didn’t mean for him to feel like he had to continue to struggle with his words, she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing was all apart of a dream and perhaps she wasn’t awake yet, simply just another stage of her sleep.

A shuddering breath dragged Crowley up from his slouch to lean forward to rest elbows on his now bent knees, hands cupping his face as loose strands of red locks fell forward, and it hurt the angel to watch.

“…you didn’t wake up…never seen you sleep before—never seen you _pass out_ ,” another roll of thunder outside paused Crowley only briefly, “ssso, yeah, wasn’t sure what to do….”

“Thank you, Crowley.” Was all Aziraphale could muster between her pounding heart, body warmer now than it was when she first woke up. She knew he didn’t like hearing thanks of any kind, especially from an angel because it only meant something _good_ , and Crowley was certainly not good no matter how much his actions spoke otherwise. _Stubborn old serpent_ , she thought affectionately.

Instead of a hiss or grunt at her reply, all she got was a slow nod. And _that_ did not sit well with her at all.

The silence dragged on.

Aziraphale licked her dry lips and whispered into the quiet room.

“…I’m sorry for worrying you—” she was abruptly interrupted by a scoff. His slow nods became quick shakes of his head all the while still buried in his hands.

Crowley let out a tight laugh, and it was anything but humorous. Aziraphale could almost taste the bitterness in his tone. “Tch, why are _you_ sorry?” He shrugged. “You…Angel, you’ve been nothing but…but _brilliant_ this whole time, if anyone should be, it’s, it’s….”

Oh dear, it was all fitting together like a jumbled puzzle in her mind. The picture it showed Aziraphale melted her heart, and she knew she had to do something for their current situation. Caught in all the recent tumultuous activity around them, there hadn’t been a moment’s peace to sit down and properly analyze their argument which was a recent habit Aziraphale vowed to practice religiously—forgive the pun—when it came to communication between Crowley and herself.

There really should have been a better occasion to practice this newly acquired habit, one with more time for the step-by-step instructional guide she had created. Oh well, maybe it was time to finally start picking up the pace a bit.

“I forgive you.”

The way she had whispered it, so sure and steady, caused Crowley to turn and show her one vibrant yellow eye, his spectacles slipping off to sit in the bowl of his hands still propping his head up. He looked like a mess behind all the dark mystery of his persona, a _Queen’s Guard_ , with a stressed-out demon behind the levers was all she could see.

And a guilty one, too. Aziraphale had to be blind not to notice, and it was almost…relieving to see in a way. During their spat in the hallway, her nerves were already well worn so instead of acting at the first sign of his misdirected temper tantrum to yank him out of it, she chose the moral high-ground of retorting equally empty words to satisfy some meaningless vindication.

They both had a bad night, it seemed. And both have never been professionals at communicating. And sometimes constant riddles and innuendo-laden messages didn’t work when your feelings are hurt, when you’ve felt lied to or insulted, or when you feel overwhelming sensations of gratitude or admiration with never the right word or appropriate phrase to convey it.

In these moments, however, when she could really and completely _see_ Crowley were when she felt it the most. Her demon always wore his heart in his eyes, and she often wondered if hiding his heart rather than hiding his eyes were the real issue.

 _Crowley_. She couldn’t help but frown a little. The concern, the guilt, the twinge of fear, all could be found in the molten yellow of his iris.

All for her.

And yet, they knew what they were. Crowley could feel whatever he wanted but saying and acting on them were severely punishable crimes.

Knowing it well, she wouldn’t let him risk the exposure. She had to be faster than Crowley sometimes. Times like this.

She was an angel, after all. She forgave things.

Crowley was a demon, and demons didn’t say _sorry_. He could, but she would make sure he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to say it for her to know either. When his eye widened at her, which was a lovely thing to watch and she was too fascinated by how his pupil slivered at the same time, she knew he finally understood what was said.

Too glad to see them on the same page for once, she gently outstretched her arm to the edge of the bed and turned her palm up as fingers opened in a silent invitation. She blinked down at her hand and smiled. He followed her stare and held it for a long unmoving second. Aziraphale waited with a similar stillness.

The room flashed bright from the lightning outside, rolling thunder soon following.

Aziraphale had been expecting a few more lingering seconds, so when he laid his gloved hand on hers with entangling fingers and a firm squeeze, she was pleasantly surprised.

What was more pleasantly surprising was being treated to not one, but two molten yellow eyes swimming with so much emotion staring intently at where their hands intertwined as if he questioned its existence, questioning himself by the looks of it, arm tense as if to pull back like a whip at the first sign of unease.

“If you can forgive me, that is…,” now it was her turn to mumble, and he looked up at her immediately, “…I…I’m glad you didn’t stay asleep….”

They stared at each other, neither daring to move away too quickly. The storm outside, the children slumbering away below them, all fell into another world.

And that was all it took for them to move past it. The corner of her demon’s lips twitched, and it was just enough of a smile she could tuck into the pocket inside her heart with the rest of her cherished collection.

“…Crowley?”

“Mm?”

“…did I at least faint elegantly?”

Surprise humor always lifted those little smiles of his.

“…as elegant as a newborn foal.”

Aziraphale tried for a pout to keep from laughing. Crowley gulped, and trained his look with a more somber expression. She wasn’t sure if he knew his thumb was rubbing very small circles against her palm.

“You feeling alright?” He mumbled, like a shy boy no older than Charlie.

She considered the question. “…I’m absolutely famished.”

His smile came back for an encore. “Tha’s more like it.” He shifted a bit and his shoulders visibly relaxed. With his free hand, he put his glasses back on and Aziraphale got the strangest rekindling of how one feels after placing their most prized jewels back into a safety deposit box. What a funny thought.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything and surprise you—you know how I am with surprises. Big fan, me—but you also know I’m bad with secrets,” oh, to hear him blabber on like his old self was like a warm refreshing sip of cocoa, “ _but_ , because of your heroic deeds the castle staff is currently whipping you up a delicious meal fit for a queen. I mean _really_ , you should see what they’re making down there, Angel, they didn’t serve any’o that at the party. And I’m not talking about glazed chicken-whatever-tiny—”

“W-Wait, what did you say?”

“The chicken bites?”

“No! Heroic deeds? Do they think I…?” Oh _no_.

Crowley already knew where she was headed and cut her off at the pass. “No, your miracle worked like a charm. Everyone thinks the man collapsed from exhaustion at the last second.” He suddenly waved lanky fingers in the air wafting away what he just said. “That doesn’t matter, point is you stepped in front of a mindless human ready to nibble on you, knowing that would happen if it meant the children were saved. Word traveled, in one ear’n’another, and now you’ve got more dishes coming to you than you know what to do with.” With that, he shrugged as it to say _what of it_ and looked at the angel expectedly.

Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley stared.

“Wot?”

“Crowley,” she huffed, “what I did was _reckless_!” She winced at the volume and quickly glanced down to make sure she hadn’t woken the children. “I-I acted without thinking, and—yes, of course I protected them that was the point—b-but,” she tried to stay on topic, “it was a brash impulsive decision with far better alternatives I could have taken—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Crowley challenged. “Why’re you worried about what you _could_ have done, or _should_ have? You saved’em,” he motioned toward the children, “you knocked the bollocks off that crazy-eyed bloke, and everyone is safe!” A pause. “’Cept for the guy who got eaten, he didn’t get off so lucky.”

“I could have put _you_ in danger! Think of all the divine energy in that room, Crowley, it could have harmed the humans, it could have—wait, wha—”

“—What?”

Their synchronized _what_ took them both back.

“What did you say?”

“No no no, I asked first—”

“—that’s a lie, obviously I did—”

“ _Angel_.”

“Fine.” Wily bastard. “You…I-I-I put you and everyone else at risk because I acted blindly. It was unprofessional of me to lose my grip like that….”

“Oh, will you just give yourssself a break, please?”

Aziraphale snapped her mouth shut at that, but not in anger or indignation. She wasn’t sure why, but she expected something more like _a very reckless move on your part, Aziraphale_ like something Michael would say, or _think smarter next time_ would have been Uriel all the way, and there was also the _getting a bit rusty are we_ was always Sandalphon’s go-to. And that was one of the things she lov—adored about Crowley. He wasn’t like what she expected.

Crowley hissed and sighed at the same time. “Stop finding reasons to think you did something bad and start appreciating what you did goo _ergh_ ,” he wretched. She should have saw that one coming. He looked at her helplessly. “You’re killin me here, Angel.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point.” She closed the lid on that topic before her cheeks flushed any darker.

“My turn,” she shifted quickly, “what was that about someone getting _eaten_?”

Crowley nodded quietly. Aziraphale added with a gasp, “the murder. A man was eaten, and—oh Crowley, that is horrid!” Her gears were picking up speed. “And that man?” Crowley nodded, letting her realize it on her own in time. “Oh, he was the—and that would explain the blood, I—” she paled a shade whiter with a hand on her chest to grip her pearls if she were wearing any, “oh my _Lord_ , how grizzly! I stood in front of that—you think he was the one who…?”

“Pretty positive.”

“Heavens, how awful. Does anyone know who this poor soul was?” She wasn’t sure which man she was referring to. Crowley was quick to answer both questions with a shrug. “Not yet. Thaddeus is still examining the body, and we’re to visit the other guy in the cell when he comes-to.”

Aziraphale nodded, now perked completely out of her warm comfort and entirely invested in the information she was given. “I have a feeling their identities will be important to—Thaddeus?”

“Hm?”

“My dear, who is Thaddeus?”

Crowley blinked, then sniffled nonchalantly. “No one, a doctor—the only doctor in this bloody castle, anyway. Got to know him when we discovered the crime scene, why does it matter?”

Oh, he was getting defensive. This was becoming too easy and he should have known better.

With a mirthful squint of her blue eyes, Aziraphale analyzed the demon enough to cause a pinched look on his face.

“First name basis, I see. My dear, did you make a friend?”

His hackles raised instantly, as anticipated. “Didn’t make _shit_ , nothing wrong with calling someone by their first name—”

“And nothing to be ashamed of either, dear. I’m elated. You always go on about how you never meet anyone worthwhile on your assignments, and then here you go and make a friend, that’s wonderful—”

“ _Shut it_ , I don’t have any friendsss!” His forked tongue poked out adorably. “You’re the only friend I need, and that’s _that._ ” A small hack finished the tantrum when Crowley realized the good in what he’d just said.

Oh, how the angel missed antagonizing her poor serpent. She would spare him for now.

“Crowley,” a sudden new topic surfaced to the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue, “what does the castle owner think of all this?”

At the mere mention of that man, Crowley scowled. She would have to put that one in her pocket for further questioning.

“He thinks like the ego-inflated bull he is,” he hissed, “that we caught the culprit, the day is saved, and everyone can resume their alcohol-induced celebrations. Nothing new there.”

“That’s all?” Aziraphale reached up with the hand on her chest to twirl one of her blond curls on her shoulder. “Hard to imagine anyone would want to carry on as if a man hadn’t just been mutilated in one of your foyers. He’s a rather strange one, isn’t he?”

The look Crowley gave her as soon as she said it made her feel as though she’d just told him of another flaming sword she’d given away. The sparkling roundness of his eyes were like a puppy given a much-deserved treat.

“Couldn’t agree more, Angel. Glad you noticed.” It sounded like he’d just come out of the best daydream he’d ever had.

“Quite.” She swallowed thickly. He really should give her more of those puppy looks.

“Sounds like you’re not a fan.” She challenged because she never once admitted to _not_ being a bastard.

The redhead snorted. “Course’not. Flashy arsehole. First impressions aren’t kind to him, I’ll say that much.”

She wouldn’t admit this part out loud unless she wanted to nurse the demon's wounded pride, however she did remember the man being quite charming in her first impression. Minus the strange, of course. Equally as strange.

“He said something to me…just after we met. My nerves,” he traced a hand up his back, “shot right up m’spine with what he said.” She always knew when to get serious when Crowley admitted something in that way; how it physically made him feel. An amazingly resilient serpent, Crowley was. Not a lot could shake his foundation in her eyes.

She waited, and it was a habit of his to encourage her with suspenseful silence. She relented easily. “Well my dear, what did he say?”

“…” Crowley opened his mouth, then shut it. He did that exactly three times before ruffling a frantic hand through his hair. “Ah…think he knows about you and I….”

 _What_.

The small blond hair on her arms shot straight up, alarm rippled over her scalp. “You don’t mean—”

“No, I don’t mean _that_ , yeah awful phrasing I get it.” He sighed. “He must have saw us chatting at the party earlier. He said something along, er, somethin’about making sure I solve the murder 'cus I- _we_ , he said _we_ , Angel, like him and I-anyway, that we wouldn’t want a _certain maid_ to get hurt if I didn’t-some crock, intimidation maneuver humans do when they feel threatened by someone, y-you know the thing.” He sniffled.

His babbling was like watching a hamster moving faster and faster in their wheel. She couldn’t help how endearing it was.

“Well, that’s—that’s not _good_ , but it could be worse.” Aziraphale relaxed somewhat.

“All of’em were there, annoying as all. Tuff, the Duke, even that creepy butler, whatever his name is…Putz….”

“Seems rather cliché for a strange castle proprietor to have a creepy butler…”

“…Pratz…no, no….”

They were in their own worlds in the same galaxy.

“…I’ll have to think harder if I remember seeing him last night…”

“…Protz!” Crowley almost shouted and slapped a hand to his mouth too late.

They waited. Not even a stir from either of them.

“Protz?” Aziraphale quirked a brow at him. “Why are you speaking German, dear boy?”

“Huh? I am not.”

“Protz, Crowley. It’s an old German word. Means frog-er, toad, if I’m not mistaken.”

To reiterate on what may not need further reiteration; Aziraphale loved literature. The writing, archiving knowledge, speech, multiple languages! It was where her heart could be found. And with her nose always in a book, she often found herself on a different wavelength of understanding compared to others. Something they say or mention could mean one thing to so many, but so many to one Aziraphale. It was the origin in a name, the restructuring of an old word from a dead language, multiple meanings in a simple phrase. And she usually realized she did this when something she would point out caused a door to open in someone else’s mind.

Crowley was someone she did it to the least, partly because of his wit and partly due to him listening to her constant passionate laments.

So when he clicked his jaw and tilted his head to the side, she knew it was one of these times when some random little fact she pointed out had a significant impact on something he had seen or heard of coincidentally.

“Protz…huh… _huh_ ,” he huffed louder, “I must be losing my touch. Feel like that one was a given,” Crowley looked completely enlightened and embarrassed all wrapped up in one amusing expression.

When Aziraphale gave him an odd look, he quickly clarified. “The guy looks like a frog, Angel. I’m not making this up, he _really_ looks like a frog.”

“You mean the frog that lost his home?”

The flash of lightning in that instant was too well-planted, and the crack of thunder froze both angel and demon still, save for the quicker-than-lightning yank of hands untwining and pulling away.

Both beings looked to the little mop of brown curls where sleep-heavy ocean eyes stared back at them curiously. One arm was hooked around Aziraphale’s tummy, and the other holding her porcelain doll snug against her chest which hid her face from nose and down.

“Maurielle,” Aziraphale gently chided, “what have I said about snooping in on grown-up talk?”

The small girl, drunk from sleep no doubt, put a chubby finger to her lips just over her mischievous little smile.

“Positively evil.” She could practically hear Crowley’s grin. Of course he would swoon at that kind of behavior.

“Maurielle—”

“Did he find his Mommy?” She yawned like a kitten.

Aziraphale stopped herself and considered if the child was sleep talking or caught in a dreamlike stasis. Her and Charlie both did it often enough to make sense.

“Darling,” she whispered gently, “who are you talking about?”

Maurielle blinked heavily, “the frog, Miss Fell. The frog in the hallway.”

“…frog in the hallway?” Aziraphale exchanged confused glances with Crowley. “When?”

“Last—” another squeaky yawn “—night. Charlie made me angry, and I got up and walked to your door but there was’a little frog there.” Her eyelids drooped every fourth word being lulled back into her sleep.

Aziraphale almost pinched her awake. “Maurielle,” she pressed with a twinge more seriousness, “you saw a frog in the hallway last night?”

The little girl’s eyes opened again and nodded against her doll’s head. “He croaked at me, like he was lost. Me and Abby thought he was lost.” Her eyebrows scrunched into a tiny scowl. “He was _not_ lost. He got me and Abby lost.”

“Abby and _I_ , dear. But moreover, what did this little frog look like?”

Maurielle shook with a barely suppressed giggle muffled into Abbigail’s head. When it was out of her system, the angel could see her smile hiding in the doll’s hair.

“Abby said he looked like Butler Protz, but I told her it was not polite to make fun of people b’cus that’s what Miss Fell teaches allthegood _boysn…_.” The giggle must have been the last remaining energy she had, because the next second she was out like a flame.

Little did this child know, her sleep-delirious babble would unearth a very grim realization to the Principality and Serpent of Eden currently stunned to silence, meeting each other’s wide eyes with the same revelation happening right under their noses.

“I’ll be damned.” Aziraphale swore under her breath.

“I’ll be blessed.” Crowley swore under his breath. “…a five-year-old just gave us our biggest clue.” It dawned on him completely, and the demon gasped.

“We’re out of shape on this one, Angel. Lost our touch.”

“I’ll say….”

“Need to buck up, you and I. It’s hittin the ceiling, we need to be ready for what comes next.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” Aziraphale lied through her teeth.

Crowley did that crawly thing with his body when he wanted to sit up straight in his chair but wiggled too much to adjust properly, his attention sharp and intentions far too wily.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Of course not! She was angel; she shouldn’t be thinking the same things as a demon, it was too scandalous to even think of!

“I believe I am.” She looked up briefly in a quiet prayer, then met his stare with a sigh and a ghost of a smirk.

“How many bottles have you brought with you? It’ll be a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm swooning over these two~ I blame the unstoppable charisma of David Tennant and Michael Sheen together on this one. 
> 
> One clue discovered! A link between Butler Protz and the lost frog that lured Maurielle to danger. Lost? Or planning a trap?
> 
> Feel free to share any theories or suspicions in the comments, I'm a grade-A sucker for theories :3 Thank you all for reading!


	12. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It may be a few days before I update the next chapter, as the rest of this week is going to be pretty packed! So I went ahead and wrote up the next interim. :3 Your comments bring me life, and I will definately be sure to reply to all of them as soon as I can! You guys are awesome!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spirited away on stolen time, an angel and a demon trade secrets as well as truths.

Unbeknownst to the inhabitants of the castle, wisps of demonic and angelic intervention wafted throughout the air like the steaming aroma of freshly baked goods; seeping through any cracks and crevices and directly into the consciousness of every human.

To Charlotte and Charles, Aziraphale was catching up on all her pending chores.

For Thaddeus Copper, Crowley was snooping around the halls administering interviews and collecting alibis.

And for Maurielle and Charlie, Aziraphale needed to rest her weary bones. She wouldn’t argue their decision to slip slyly into the kitchens and steal fresh baked pastries as a surprise gift for their beloved nanny later.

Meticulously planned and varied person to person, to the world outside it was common knowledge that both Lord Crowley and Miss Fell were too preoccupied with their current activities and it would not be a good idea to disturb them.

There was truth in this, however, that while yes both were very preoccupied and were not to be bothered, the reality—a _bended_ truth as Aziraphale would call it. Deviously lying was what Crowley was more certain of—involved no chores or interviews or resting.

Papers scattered about the room ranging from the pile on Azirpahale’s bed to various scattered across the coffee table with paperweights consisting of empty wine bottles and one distinctly aged fine bourbon. It would have appeared seemingly normal had it not been for the various documents floating about the room aimlessly around the two beings currently locked into an intense conversation.

With a sluggish wave, the bourbon almost sloshed out of the glass as Crowley twirled himself around on the heel of his foot.

“So you think…you think the frog is _not_ Protz?” He smacked his lips trying harder than he should to wrap his head around that. “S’what, you think he’s got these little guys on leashes, or-or puppeteering’em around?” A hilarious mental image just then made Crowley snicker. “Like a buncha trained evil frogs.”

“Precisely.” Aziraphale agreed with a toast of her glass, her other hand reaching up to grab the piece of paper fluttering too close to her head. She pulled it close to read with squinted eyes only to shake her head and shoo the document away. “Well, I wouldn’t say puppeteering them. Controlling them someway, that makes more sense to me.”

“Frog circus.” Crowley snickered. “ _Evil_ froggy circus….”

Getting sloshed was usually not the intentional part of their investigation, but it always seemed to ultimately end that way. Neither argued against it.

“Circus or not,” Aziraphale supplied, “it’s a possibility. Would not rule it out, at least. He very well could be the frog that Maurielle followed to the room with that lunatic.”

“Sounds…fishy,” Crowley scrunched his nose up at the thought, “…don’t think she followed’em so much so-so much that he _led_ her to that room.” He nodded hard, almost losing his balance but would argue adamantly that he found the chair to sit in suddenly, the chair didn’t find him.

Aziraphale paused her sip and the glass waited patiently at her full lips, her eyes open and alert. “Intentionally leading an innocent child to unspeakable danger…do you really think so? That sounds like a…” her eyes glanced at nothing in the room, “…well, that sounds horrible! An awful thing to do, it’s—”

“Demonic?” Crowley assisted with a knowing smirk.

Aziraphale blinked. “I-well, yes, that’s exactly right.”

“Would explain why Protz’z able to turn into a frog.” He tipped his glass up to the idea. “Write that down somewhere…” he swiveled his head around until he pointed a long finger at a nearby floating piece of paper. “You there!” He barked, and the paper shivered at attention. “Write that down, tha’s a good one.”

“Crowley,” the slurred tone was slipping through her speech, “have you been able to sense anything about the butler? Any demonic presence or something?”

“Whad’you mean?”

The angel put a hand to her chest. “I’m able to pick up the spiritual pressure of another angel within a certain vicinity depending on how close they may be or—” she burped –“pardon me dear, or how powerful their energy is. Is that the same with demons?”

It seemed like a good question Crowley hadn’t put much thought in. He shrugged as his body began to slouch downward in his seat. “Yeah, yeah we can do that stuff too. I got nothing from Protz. He’s just…creepy old frog man vibes, tha’s all.”

“Perhaps it’s a glamour. A poor one, really, if he can’t seem to appear more man than frog in his human form—”

“Oi, you getting this down?” The serpent hissed at the frightened piece of paper. “I’aven’t forgot about you, pal. This is good stuff.”

“Crowley, kindly don’t interrupt me to scold the parchment. I can’t think straight.”

“My bad, Angel.”

Aziraphale wandered over to the sofa adjacent from the chair Crowley was slouched in and plopped daintily on the cushion closest to her demon friend. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into her drink, her thoughts swirling around in the liquor.

“…you think it was a distraction?”

“Hm?”

“Leading the child to the monster…what if it wasn’t just a-a senseless demented act?” She shrugged one shoulder. “What if…there’s hidden motives we just aren’t seeing from the surface?”

“Suppose it is,” Crowley took over the train of thought, his fingers stroking his chin and an invisible beard, “or they were trying to show us-er’whoever it is what was in that room…namely the loon crawling on the floor like an animal.”

“What if,” the lanky demon suddenly propelled himself out of the chair on the beginnings of a drunk epiphany, “missing children always draw copious amounts of attention, clearly it did in this case…” briefly the thought of what he was going to say next sobered him slightly, “…the kid was bait.”

It sounded nasty, and they both soured at the possibility.

“Awful…” Aziraphale sighed sadly, lifting the bourbon for a bigger gulp to help swallow the notion down and grimaced at the burn in her throat. “Despicable, absolutely unforgivable to use a child’s life for one’s bidding.”

“Tha’s just it, Angel! Tha’s ma’point!” Crowley spread his arms out wide and smacked a few passerby floating papers as he did so. “The dispipa-dispicis- _fuck_ -de-spic-able-ness of the entire thing is the _distraction_. Everything is already on its head, right; you got the half-eaten guy over there, the rabid loon over here, throw an innocent doe-eyed girl in the mix, you got one A-class distraction. Now paint that picture,” Crowley was on a roll, and his hands and bourbon were flying around him wildly in emphasis, “around the overall—”

“My dear, where are you going with—”

“—ssshh, lemme finish…around the overall. Bigger the distraction, bigger the issue someone is hiding. Y’see?”

It made sense, but a drunk Crowley was an over-explainer. “So what you’re trying to say,” Aziraphale clarified, “is that it was necessary for our culprit to orchestrate an unfathomably sinister charade to cover up more sinister goings-on while everyone’s back is turned, so to speak?”

“Exactly.”

Her sweet serpent looked so proud of himself she couldn't help but enable him. “A brilliant observation, Crowley.” She chirped, giving him a quick few appreciative claps and a beaming smile, which made him appear prouder. It was the little things Aziraphale allowed herself to enjoy.

“So tell me, _Mr. Holmes_ ,” Aziraphale giggled at her own joke, “what is it do you think we are being distracted from?”

Crowley stretched, as if it were possible to appear any longer than he usually did, and then shrugged.

“Not a clue.”

The angel smiled through the cringe. At least they were on the same page. She leaned forward to set her glass down on the coffee table and stood up. When her knees wobbled there was a second she was almost destined to meet the floor but powered through it. Must be all the alcohol, she dismissed it quickly. They had been going steady for hours, and the one unfortunate part about day-drinking was that the day always seemed to go by much faster. When she had last looked at the time it was two in the afternoon, and there had been quite a few uncounted-for hours since then.

“If you ask me, Crowley,” Aziraphale started while taking slow steps toward him, “I think it could, perhaps, be not the question of what they are covering up…moreover, what are they trying to expose?” Her words were purposefully slow with consideration in every syllable as if trying out the word on her tongue first.

Crowley found a nearby parchment particularly interesting enough to swipe it from the air and analyze it close enough to brush his nose, but she knew he was still listening intently.

“This is a rather large castle. There’s lots of places to hide things one wouldn’t want others to see. I couldn’t think of anything so large to cause a need for such a distraction. So…” the more she spoke, the more her hands found each other at the midway point of her tummy and wrung nervously, “…what if they were looking for something?”

Aziraphale was suddenly overcome with the feeling she was treading on territory she would prefer not to, yet at the same time felt like she was getting closer to something unbeknownst to them.

“A-a-a—” good Lord with these stutters of hers “—a reaction? Could it have been a test? For whom? Did _whoever_ think the man would _not_ attack the child and therefore decided to test their theory? Did they think Maurielle would do something, or one of the adults—Crowley, do you think this whole thing is a test of some sort-sort of elaborate experiment to see whose reaction stood out—!”

A black blur moved in front of her before she could shake herself out it, and no sooner than her eyes focused ahead she felt warm hands on her biceps gripping her firmly enough to ground her. Crowley had closed the distance in no time to stand right in front of her with no more than a professional distance apart. She tilted her head up to meet an interesting choice of facial expression for the occasion. She did have to admit stoic was an attractive look on him.

“Angel,” yet his tone was anything but stoic as he said gently, “breathe.”

“I don’t need to—”

“—you need to breathe.” He corrected.

It finally clicked; one of their codewords.

“Oh…” Aziraphale nodded, “you’re quite right. Apologies, my dear. I went off the rails a bit there, didn’t I?”

“Mmm-a bit, yeah.” The snake, he didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm. “That’an I maybe a bit too drunk to follow what your saying.” He finished with a grin, but his false innocence did not fool her.

The demon noticed and back-peddled quickly. “It’s your fault. Why’d you let me mix wine and bourbon, y’know how I get.”

“Me? They were _your_ idea—”

“— _our_ idea—”

“—oh, fine, we’re both too drunk for this. I’m sobering up.” It was a statement as well as a suggestion he do the same. And with a dramatic nod of his head in defeat, Crowley stepped back to expel the alcohol in his system.

Reversing inebriation back to sobriety was always a nasty thing. It was easier and faster than riding out the drunk, and she would rather the foul taste in her mouth and brief disorientation instead of a pesky hangover any day.

Just as the alcohol filled the bottles back to appropriate volume, Aziraphale welcomed the all too familiar burst of reality and assumed her usual ritual of blinking away the sluggishness, however this time proved to be more troublesome for the angel. Strange, she never remembered feeling so dizzy after sobering up. The little black spots closing in from her peripherals were new too. The world spun in two directions taking Aziraphale’s balance one way while her last grip of reality went spiraling in the opposite and sent her body limply downward to the ground between the two.

“Aziraphale!”

Her knees felt the cold ground but not her head, and that was a very lovely fact. When the spinning worlds finally united, she found herself hovering a foot above the floor in the vice grip of two long arms; one around her tailbone and the other around her shoulder blades with a forearm supporting her neck, and a wide palm supporting her head. Her right side felt warm and settled comfortably against his torso.

In the angel’s disoriented state she briefly entertained how it would feel to have Crowley coil around her body, muscles constricting her just tight enough to remind her he could do what he pleased to her, to lay his weight over her; protective in a way and just on the precipice of possessive—

“Come on, Angel, you’re scaring me.”

A deep breath instantly brought her back to two large yellow eyes staring down at her in concern, his dark glasses somewhere in the room forgotten. Pale cheeks blossomed pink at everything between Crowley’s full attention and her embarrassing state.

“I-I,” she sounded so weak, “I’m sorry, Crowley. L-Lost my footing, it seems.”

He stared at her, unconvinced.

“Angel,” she would have winced at the scolding bite in his tone if she had the room for it, “tell me the truth, the _honest_ and _total_ truth…you haven’t been alright since you first fainted, have you?”

The honest and total truth was all Aziraphale wanted to blurt out, but the look in his eyes…so much concern for her. She didn’t deserve it.

Her eyes flickered. “…I-I must have sobered up too quickly and got a headrush—”

The hissed retort burned like fire. “ _Azzziraphale._ ”

“—I don’t know.” She whimpered and almost didn’t recognize her own voice. It sounded small, weak, and uncertain.

To Crowley, it was what he had asked for. The snarl melted into a gentle shock and mouth opened a bit and he only made that face when he was blindsided. She wasn’t sure if he knew how much younger it made him look. And softer.

Aziraphale tried again, attempting some form of renewed certainty. “If I knew why, I would tell you. Not really accustomed to feeling this weak, dear boy, and I’m still trying to rationalize it. But I-I’m afraid if I spend too much time thinking about it…it will become real, and I will fail this assignment.”

The unblinking stare of a serpent should have bothered her, but she wouldn’t change it for the world. As if she had just shared the mysteries of the universe with him, he looked at her with astonishment and wonder. She wasn’t sure what to expect him to say to that, so she wasn’t prepared for what she heard next.

“I’m not gonna let you fail.”

Aziraphale waited for the stutter or snort that would pullback the raw emotions, yet it never came.

“Not by yourself. Give me some credit, Angel.” That low rumble always did scandalous things to her heart. “You really think I’d let you fail your task and complete mine with flying colors?”

The tiny shake of her blond head made him huff.

“Then stop acting so stupid. You’re much too clever.”

Aziraphale often prayed for strength within herself, and if not herself than her heavenly Mother to give her strength. She realized at that moment she never really had to pray for it at all. It was always there. It was always him that gave her strength.

It was impulsive, and it was bold what she did next. It was completely unlike her and broke several rules in several realms.

A soft hand reached up to cup his jaw to the right and lifted herself up just enough to rest her full cheek against the sharp edges of his left cheekbone. Being only a breath apart the angel could feel the demon’s body tense to solid stone, and she did not blame him at all. New territory was utterly frightening and equally forbidden for both of them, but this was the least punishable crime she could get away with, and she wouldn’t regret it.

“You always know what to say, Crowley.” She whispered in his ear like a breath’s kiss and smiled against his warm skin.

Aziraphale pretended to ignore the way his arms clenched tighter around her.

They remained like that for a second too long, and the angel pulled away reluctantly to lay back on his thighs. She didn’t need him to say anything, and that was just the happy medium they always agreed on.

To be honest, her demon did not have to say a word. It was written all over his face.

Her prim little smile beamed. “My dear, I can’t tell right now which is redder; your hair or your face.” There was no helping it sometimes. He left himself wide open on purpose.

His first blink in what seemed forever and a day, he finally registered her words and narrowed his eyes, and _Good Lord_ _save her withering soul._ All those years she thought it was just a trick of her eyes, but those perfect black slivered pupils could expand. And maybe this was what it felt like to be hypnotized by a serpent’s gaze.

Crowley’s lips twitched up at the corners, a daring smirk just big enough for the tips of his fangs to peak out. Lips parted, and hers mimicked him.

Dilated eyes shifted down to her lips, noticing the movement instantly. A drum was beating in the distance and oh, no that was just her heart trying to crawl out of her ears. Her skin buzzed with static, and it was like a lightning bolt down her spine. He was so far, she wanted to feel him, to take in the scent so distinctly her demon. If she just moved a little closer…and when he leaned in she was beyond grateful...

 _“Miss Fell_?”

Whatever spell had been casted over the room broke with a muffled call from outside. Quick raps on the door confirmed enough to contract Crowley’s eyes back to slits with a startle. And just like that, time was up.

“ _Miss Fell…my apologies for troubling you, miss, but Lord Windsor is requesting your presence in the second floor billiard room.”_

Of course he would. Petulantly, she went limp over the demon’s thighs and dropped her head back almost to the ground.

“Yes, my dear. No trouble at all, I will be there soon!” She didn’t care if it sounded tight lipped.

As if one interruption wasn’t enough, a large-knuckled rap against the door startled them again.

_“Crowley, it’s Copper. I know you've been in there all day. Make yourself presentable and meet me out here with haste.”_

“ _Shit._ ” Crowley cursed.

For the umpteenth time in six thousand years, it seemed time would not spare them from their assigned roles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close! I have a feeling we're about to see some hot and heavy moments coming soon *waggles brows*. But not before this rollercoaster dives into some angst and dramatic plot twists first!
> 
> And I couldn't NOT write a drunk scene somewhere in here, forgive me but I simply had to lol. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think! 
> 
> <3


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't found the time to thank everyone individually for all the wonderful feedback, so I thought a new chapter would show my thanks until I can stop being a ball of shy awkward and just thank you guys like a normal person hah.
> 
> Looks like I had more spare time than I expected! Honestly, I'm blown away by the responses I received from the last few chapters. Literally, I may have read each of your comments a hundred times T_T you guys are awesome. And those that shared their theories, I LOVED them. Get's me so pumped to unveil more plot! Speaking of:
> 
> WARNING: plot heavy! Major plot heavy, like a lot. Strong language, minor references to anatomy/body parts and function, spooky elements, mentions of crime/criminal act. And references to non-con elements *potential trigger warning*.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A storm begins to rage inside the castle, a doctor bearing bad news unveils more sinister truths, and a demon races to an angel in peril.

As far as slipping out of Aziraphale’s room went, Crowley might as well have been a star-crossed adolescent lover being caught slipping out of a girls-only dormitory.

The first one out of the room, he sauntered out with an adjustment of his top-hat and roll of his shoulders. Cloak ready to billow behind him and walking cane firmly grasped, the tall demon cleared his throat and checked the hallway from its empty right to its empty—

He froze at Dr. Copper’s nonchalant lean against the wall next to the door, half-burned cigarette hanging lazily from his lips under his barstool mustache as if he just picked that particular place to enjoy a smoke because why not? And to add to the cool allure, he had yet to address Crowley’s presence who he obviously knew was staring intently at him.

“Thaddeus.” Crowley played it cool, or tried pitifully to, which paled in comparison to the physician. He would have to learn this man’s ways.

“My Lord.” He nodded cordially, moving off the wall to finally turn and greet Crowley head on, that hard look behind his spectacles held a certain glint the demon didn’t know him well enough to place, but if he had to guess it was one with mirthful intention.

“How’re those alibis coming along?”

“Ahhh…” Very smooth.

The man shook his head and pinched the cigarette from his lips to exhale a plume of smoke to the side and respectfully out of Crowley’s face. He held the other hand up in a peaceful manner.

“It was a joke. I know you've been here the entire time.”

The demon felt like a boy being caught red-handed by their father, or if that was what this felt like he certainly did sympathize for young boys, and girls, everywhere. How this man was able to evade his demonic intervention would remain an enigma.

“Can’t fool this old man, lad.” His eyes twinkled, and just how old did he think Crowley was? “I’ve got nine children back at home, ages three to eighteen.” Because of course he did, the charmer.

“Yeah….” What was supposed to be an equally smooth charm came out as a stutter and an insecure scratch to the back of his red head. “Things happened. Y’know how it is, making sure everyone’s alright. The maid had a lot of interesting information to share—”

“I’m sure she did.” He agreed simply, without jeer or sarcasm or any of that nasty stuff, and why couldn’t more humans be like Thaddeus, honestly?

When the door opened again, it could not have been worse timing for Aziraphale to pop out in a flurry of blond curls and a rosy blush. She wiggled her posture to presentable and it seemed to jiggle her voluptuous ladies into a comfortable position. With her between the two of them, there was no way Crowley could nudge her leg with his cane without the doctor noticing. She finally looked up.

“Well, shall I— _oh_.” She stopped dead when she noticed her surroundings, head bouncing back and forth between an amused smirk and a mortified stare.

The angel sound as embarrassed as she looked and struggled through a cleared throat and confused motor-skills to slip out of their meeting with a bowed head. “S-Sorry, gentlemen. I-I-Don’t mean to interrupt! I’ll just be—” And promptly took off down the hallway.

The doctor’s look needed no explanation, neither did Crowley’s reddened face.

“Uh…that-that wasn’t….”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. I’ll give you my business card in case you need me in nine months though.” What in Satan’s name did _that_ mean??

Thaddeus added, “it’s no one’s business who you roll around under the sheets with. If it’s the Queen-Mother’s rule to know everything about her personnel’s love life, I’d never known her to be perverted.”

A flood of relief soothed the tension. Crowley would have to ask Aziraphale to bless this man’s life. A good man should not go unnoticed.

“Besides, you would have wasted your time collecting alibis anyway. We’ve got problems.”

The mood in the hallway transitioned from playful humor to a grim shadow of dread as the physician’s words sunk like a stone in Crowley’s stomach, and he briefly considered delaying the new information just to be able to linger in the afterglow of his shared afternoon with the loveliest company he would ever need.

“I’m going to regret asking this,” Crowley groaned and powered through it, “but what could be worse than what is happening presently?”

Thaddeus did not respond right away, and that made the demon feel ten times worse. And when he lowered his eyes and did not meet Crowley’s then, it took the ten times as bad and raised it ten more times worse. A muscle spasmed just below the demon’s left eyebrow.

The doctor sighed through his nose. “There’s more of them.”

“Wot?”

“…A couple in one of the third level guest rooms facing the seafront spotted a deranged woman running around on the shoreline from their window. Naked as a newborn, she was. Half eaten fish in her mouth. God only knows how long she’d been wandering out in the thunderstorm stark-raving mad.”

That painted a horrific picture in the demon’s mind and he almost reached up to rub the ache out of the bridge of his nose but thought better. Now it was his turn to sigh.

“That’s…bad."

The doctor hummed. “Yes…though not as bad as the one they locked in the coat closet in the servant’s quarters.”

“Wot!?”

“They managed to trick him in there before he could hurt anyone,” he paused with a bristle of his mustache, “hurt anyone _seriously_.”

Crowley twitched again. “What does that mean?”

“Managed to take a bite out of one of the servants. Nothing I couldn’t stitch back up.”

This guy; carrying on like he was reading funny anecdotes in the Sunday paper. It was beyond impressive, but it was putting the demon’s heart through an obstacle course.

“Doctor, how are you so calm about all this?” He could not help but ask.

The doctor snorted humorously. “Because I have no idea what is going on, so I’m not sure what would be the most appropriate reaction. But I know if you want to perform a successful surgery, you need steady hands. So if there are crazed people roaming about my holiday, I don’t think it’s a good idea to panic, wouldn’t you agree?”

It was in the way he said it; with steady-minded confidence, it was almost a sin why Crowley couldn’t act like that naturally in times of peril. He watched his angel collapse, for a _second time_ , and all he could blurt out was _I’m not gonna let you fail_. He sounded like a child and felt equally as helpless as one.

If he was more cool-headed, like the physician, maybe he could be able to protect his angel the way she deserved to be.

“Yeah,” Crowley relaxed a little and immediately decided to give it a try.

“Speaking of surgery,” Copper paused and reached into his vest pocket to pull a rolled-up piece of parchment, “it’s no autopsy report, but it’s a list of things I’ve gathered from both bodies.” As if more machine than man, the doctor crushed the smoking butt of his cigarette against the wall and dropped it to adjust his spectacles all with one hand while the other skillfully unrolled the parchment with thumb and index finger.

Crowley _almost_ didn’t catch it.

“What do you mean _both_?”

“Oh. No one told you. That’s right, you’ve been here undisturbed all day.”

“Ngk.” He felt that one.

“The first lunatic died—”

“Wot!?” This was driving the serpent mad!

“—few hours ago. In the undergrounds of the castle in that holding cell. Tried to escape, ran headfirst into the wall. Just like that." He snapped his fingers in emphasis. "Crushed his own skull.”

Long black gloved fingers rubbed the ache that creeped from behind Crowley’s eyes to his forehead, now leaning on the cane with a newfound use for it other than style. “Thisss,” he caught his hiss quickly, “is sinking faster than a lead balloon.”

Dr. Copper nodded in silent agreement. “Without my equipment, I had to resort to simple tactics to get the most accurate readings from the autopsies. Stomach contents showed nothing abnormal, nothing unusual in the digestive track or bowels either that would indicate inflammation or reaction. It’s no toxicology report, but there didn’t appear to be anything blaringly concerning in the bloodstreams.” In an instant this man went into Doctor Mode. “There were abnormalities found in the organ tissue of the attacker, however….”

He paused only briefly to readjust his spectacles. “This is where I sorely miss having my equipment, because I can’t make heads or tails of the tissue decomposition we found in the brain and liver tissue—”

“I don’t speak Doctor, Thaddeus,” Crowley cut him off pointedly, “I don’t even understand fledgling-intern-babble. Little help here if you please.”

“Right, right.” Thaddeus cleared his throat. “The tissue samples indicate decay…decay that is normally seen within the first stages of decomposition after a person is deceased.”

“…”

“…”

Thaddeus blinked. “…not sure if you got that, or…?”

“No, no, I got it that time.” Crowley clarified through his stupor and lifted a clenched fist against his mouth. “…so this man…” he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and not that it wasn’t plausible being a demon and all and considering all the _out-of-this-world_ events he’d witnessed in his existence, it was more of coming to terms with hearing such information out of the mouth of an educated human reading off a strip of scratch paper when it should have been news coming from someone like Beelzebub.

“…this man’s body was rotting while still alive.” It was supposed to be a question, but there wasn’t anything to question.

Dr. Copper made no reaction to the statement at first. “…without proper context, it would appear that way.”

Animated corpses. Just what in Lucifer’s name was going on in this castle?

“I was brought up Roman Catholic.” The comment almost felt irrelevant, but the doctor continued. “But I’m a man of science, Anthony. My beliefs have shifted significantly over the years. I’ve written papers, published many of my research, spoken at countless conventions…and little by little I’ve learned to rely more on the faith of my research rather than the faith of my religion,” It sounded like _someone_ was in for quite an awakening after they died.

Dr. Copper continued, and his point was made then. “…I don’t know if you’re a religious man, Anthony,” hah, one could say he was in a way, “and if you are I don’t know what book you practice by, but I can’t stop thinking back to a certain book that depicts what will happen if God decides he’s tired of us.”

Ah, the Book of Revelations. Even Crowley had to admit that one was a fun read. But the birth of the Antichrist wasn't due for a—hopefully—long time.

“…dead sinners reanimating to cast judgment on the living. Even after all this research, that’s what comes to the forefront of my mind…and that concerns me.”

Document demonic activity and file it away, they said. No further action required, they said. No need to put in more work than necessary, Crowley. It’ll be a quick little project, Crowley.

Fucking Hastur.

“The guests are becoming anxious. It’s no secret what’s happening, and people are talking. The servants and staff are absolutely terrified.” As the doctor went on, Crowley felt himself trying harder to keep up through all the information scattered in his head. “The storm’s been raging outside since early this morning. Roads are slick, others are flooded, and carriages can’t get through safely. One of the stable boys reported storm damage to the stables this morning. Some of the horses ran off, and the ones left are too spooked to make any sense of instruction.” Because of-bloody-course, anything else?

“Some people tried to leave earlier today, and when they were told no one would be able to leave a small riot broke out in the entry-hall—”

“Thaddeus, I swear to S-G-Gah if you continue telling me only worse and worse news, you’ll have to operate on me next.” Crowley groaned.

“…it was a small riot?” He shrugged. It helped a little, not enough though.

Dr. Copper took his glasses off and wiped the condensation from the lenses with the collar of his undershirt. “It’s a lot to stomach. For everyone. But people are barricading themselves in their rooms, women, children, and elderly are all being cared for first. Servants and guests alike. We have a group of men gathered patrolling the inside and a group patrolling the outside, so there’s some good news.”

Finally. Humans started acting sensible eventually. The demon had been on Earth far too long to not have enough faith in them.

And something the doctor said in all this finally boiled to the surface of Crowley’s mind, and he couldn’t help but address it.

“Doc, you said something…well you said a lot, but one thing specifically…sinners judging the living. Why do you believe these people going feral are sinners?”

Thaddeus blinked as if someone turned a light on in his head. “Ah. My apologies.” And promptly flipped the parchment over and adorned his spectacles. “They’ve got names as well as faces, these monsters. For the three we’ve discovered so far,” Crowley hated the way he said it, hated the way it implied there could be more out there, “in the order of discovery:

“The first; Benjamin Van Bourne. Age thirty-three, served multiple sentences for forced prostitution rings and illegal gambling. Second, Matilda Warren; age twenty-nine. Ran an orphanage on the outskirts of London. Shut down after it was discovered the children were forced into manual labor for profit. Charged for child endangerment and tax fraud. Lastly, we have Nicholi Thompson; age forty-seven. From the states, he moved here several years ago from Boston. Convicted of murdering both his mother and father for inheritance money, and as the rumors go he may have paid off the judge to give let him off lightly with a petty sentence.”

“...you wrote all tha'on that tiny piece of paper?” It was the only thing Crowley could think of to ask after that numbing information.

The demon didn’t hear the doctor’s response after that, because the second his brain caught up with all the information and filed it neatly and chronologically it set off more fireworks behind his eyes than that one spectacular Lunar New Year he spent in Beijing a few thousand years ago. However, these were not celebratory.

Hours spent with Aziraphale scrutinizing clues and sharing theories, and had they known of what was unfolding outside it would have become so obvious. At least Aziraphale would have been able to figure it out under five minutes. And in a way, Aziraphale had called it; something underneath the surface they weren’t unaware of…something very sinister. And Thaddeus did not know how right he was, literally.

The dark figure bleeding demonic aura he chased through the halls. It wasn’t just seeping off of him, it lingered like miasma. Of course a makeshift toxicology report wouldn’t catch it, not even a legitimate one could.

Their souls were being poisoned.

And Crowley would bet his bottom dollar the reason why the figure was able to throw him off the trail was because shapeshifters relied on that like a survival instinct when being hunted. Oh, finally a piece of information right up the serpent demon’s alley of expertise.

The snake in him coiled in delight. If he knew he’d been chasing a frog last night, he would have helped himself to a midnight snack.

Was Protz venturing down the hallways in the dead of night to release this miasma into the air? Another door materialized in the room of possibilities. Was it not all a clever ruse to lure Maurielle to danger, or to do so to cover something, to _expose_ something, more sinister? Why not all the above? And caught in their bidding by a child’s attention then decided to dispose of the only, or the youngest, witness—

“Thaddeusss,” Crowley hissed without a care if the doctor saw, “…who was the man murdered in the foyer?”

“Ah. Yes….” Dr. Copper’s tone became solemn. “…Christopher Sutcliff. Or Detective Sutcliff, as he went by most. He was undercover.” A pause. “…he made friends with a chef here. After the murder became public, the chef knocked on my door wanting a meeting with me. So far we are the only three _known_ people who are aware of this.”

It was everywhere; it was in the people, in the location, in the walls. All these clues and details hidden in plain sight.

“Hired by the neighbors, he was. I’m not sure if he knew what was coming until it ended his life.”

Crowley would have to unpack that later, because he was still stirring a pot of what the bloody heaven was happening in these hallways with poisoning human souls and causing them to go feral and eat each other?

“Where’s Alphaeus?” The serpent’s voice sounded miles away from his corporation.

“No one’s seen him since the mai-Miss Fell fainted. And I was the last one to see him, apparently.” Wonderful, helpful, saint of a man this doctor was. “He walked out in a hurry with that oddball butler close at his heels. Gave me chills. Like some sick fascination...anyone who makes a face like he did at seeing a woman collapse from exhaustion is someone I would do well keeping far away from.”

Because he wasn’t watching a woman. He was watching an angel. Crowley’s foundation shook at the force of the discovery, the tremors almost buckling his knees.

_Aziraphale._

_Shit. Shit. Shitshitshit—_

“ _Fuck_!” Crowley exploded, startling the doctor nearly off his feet. Aziraphale was in danger. His angel was in danger.

“Are you al—?”

“Why didn’t I see it!?” Crowley shouted, consumed by panic. “Why don’t I _ever_ bloody see it?” He wanted to claw his face apart, pull every red strand from his head. Stupid demon. Reckless demon. Blind bastard. The demonic poison driving these humans to insanity were affecting her. The same demonic poison that seemed to be showing more immediate reactions in the most corrupt souls first, which will eventually become too overpowering for most. Thaddeus seemed pure of heart, would it affect him at all? Or the children, with souls much too unripe for picking? Or were these unfortunate souls just food for possessed cattle?

“How many people!?”

Copper managed to keep himself calm despite the startled gaze. “In the castle?”

“Yes!”

Crowley allowed him a second to think. “…including staff, about a hundred’n-five tops? Around that.”

Too many. From all walks, sin was everywhere and around the corner. From a spiteful servant breaking their back for pocket change, to the spoiled greedy highborn. Among them were honest, good hearted people who fought tooth and nail to get where they were, valued every minute of life, did not find happiness in money but in the good they did. The demon had met quite a few people last night, and the good ones were far and few between.

The castle had never felt so claustrophobic before. Crowley had never felt claustrophobic before. Until now.

“I’ve got to…I’ve got to go.” Crowley was already taking steps back. “Doctor, I’m about to command you do something. And I need you to listen and do as I say. And this is going to sound very odd, but I need you to do it with Free Will, because I respect you and your mustache way too much to take that from you.”

“That was a very odd thing to say. But I’ll do it, anything you need.” Pardon Crowley’s French, but Bless that man.

“Dammit, Thaddeus. You are going to have a great fucking life and I’m going to make bloody sure of it. But first, tell everyone you are relaying a direct order from Lord Anthony Crowley of Queen Victoria’s Guard. I'm placing this castle under my own Martial Law until I say so. Round up as many as you can, and I want backgrounds; anyone so much as _looks_ like a rotten bastard you put them in one group and the others in another.”

“Not sure I understand that—”

“I didn’t ask you to. Just do it. Round up every child on these grounds, there shouldn’t be too many, their mothers or caretakers, and hide them away. And you sure as shit better watch your own back the entire time.” The farther Crowley peddled backward, the louder his enforcing barks.

“Can I trust you to do that?”

The demon wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the doctor, but it was not what he did and said next.

Steady hands much too calloused for a doctor started to fold the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows as if he’d done it a million times. “A bit rusty, but all those years in the boxing ring when I was a young bull are finally going to pay off.”

It was official. Thaddeus was Crowley’s friend.

“Where are you off to?” the demon heard the question just before disappearing around the corner and decided to throw the answer over his shoulder because he couldn’t waste a second more.

“I’m going to find my angel!”

-:-

It took forever to find the billiard room Charles was occupying. It seemed everyone but Aziraphale knew which of the four billiard rooms on this floor they were referring to. _Oh, that one billiard room_ was not proper directions, the angel would argue that until she was blue in the face.

When she pushed open the large wooden door she immediately recognized the broad back and slicked black hair of her employer standing still against the pool table near the cue stick rack, methodically chalking the tip of his pool stick. He didn’t immediately react to her presence, but that was nothing new for them. Charles preferred their different places in society with _better-than_ acknowledgment. And that was fine. Aziraphale could never see herself being chummy with someone like him.

And there were different types of chummy with Charles; the kind that clapped men on the shoulder and shared a laugh with, and the kind that clapped women on their bottoms and shared a lecherous comment in their ear when no one was looking.

It was impossible for an angel to hate something. It was a sin. But Aziraphale was damn close to testing that belief when she thought of the latter kind.

“My Lord,” she stopped in front of the pool table just before the corner edge of where Charles stood and bowed a little in respectful greeting. She kept her voice light and simple. “You requested me?”

There must have been something really fascinating about his pool game to cause such an intense stare, so it stuck out that all the balls just so happened to be nestled in the wooden triangle in the middle of the table, unsorted by color or number as it should and indicated no game was being played.

Maybe he was just that lost in his thoughts. The angel had been there a few times. More like a few times a week, really.

His pool stick looked as though it had been appropriately chalked for a while now, and blue dust powdered across the green fabric and on Charles’ sleeves.

“…Sir?” Aziraphale called out softly, not sure if she’d ever seen him so zoned out before. “Lord—”

“Hm?” She had his attention in quicker than a blink as broad shoulders hitched at the sound he made. His stare was now on her, and if looks held weight his should have broken the pool table in half.

Her human heart started with a jerk, and she felt it in her throat.

“Lord Windsor, are you alright?” She tried for a caring approach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” It was quiet and thick with caution. Was he in one of his moods? He had so many, it was hard to keep track.

The angel sighed. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright, Sir. Can I get you anything?” That’s all she really needed him to do, and he managed to even make a simple request drag on irritatingly. If it was a drink, she’d half mind to miracle one in his hand before he could tell her which type of liquor.

“How long have you been living under our roof, Miss Fell?”

Aziraphale hid the correction in her reply slyly. “You have been my employer for two months and eleven days, My Lord.” There was no other roof she would live under than her bookshops.

“Time flies.” He sounded distant. “You’ve earned your place, I can admit that.” Lord, must everything he say sound so patronizing? She would not comment. He continued. “The children love you. Charlotte hates you the least. You’ve been…an obedient, useful girl. You do as you're told.”

Was she supposed to thank him? Compliments weren’t supposed to make someone feel so demeaned. It was like Charles ripped a page from Gabriel’s book. Her arms folded inward slightly.

“Hard to find good service, nowadays.” The big man shook his head, and finally moved. The angel would not acknowledge the twitch in her shoulders when he did, and watched guardedly as he stepped slowly to the middle of the room until he put Aziraphale between him and the pool table.

He was still dusting the tip of his cue stick.

“What’s your first name, again?”

Aziraphale startled and almost asked him to repeat the question, it was so unexpected. She’d never given them a first name. To be honest, she had not given her character one. So without thinking she blurted out the first name she could think of.

“Azira.”

Aziraphale gulped, and tried not to focus on the way his eyes lit up in interest.

“Wow.” He exhaled quietly. “Not sure how I forgot that. Azira Fell,” it was too close to her real name, and coming from him sounded awful. “Lovely name. Unique, like yourself.”

He never complimented. His perverted remarks never held any attempt at charm, so she could not remember a time he had pulled this tactic on her. And the bloodshot color in the whites of his eyes told a telltale that alcohol was acting like a dirty enabler.

“Thank you, Sir.” Aziraphale sounded hollow and unlike herself.

For seconds that felt like hours he looked her up and down appreciatively and the angel’s blue eyes turned away and focused on nothing in the room, unable to watch his stare, refused to feel the ghost of intrusion in his gaze. She was patient. She could wait this out if she had to.

“Azira, my dear.” Sweet, thick like molasses it stuck to every word with false intention. She would not look at him. He could say whatever he wanted, she would not entertain it.

“Azira.”

“Yes, Sir? How can I be of assistance?”

It seemed he wouldn’t continue unless she looked at him, so she gave the baby his bottle and turned her attention back to him.

The grin in his eyes made her blood run cold.

“Take off your clothes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run, Crowley! D: 
> 
> Some parts were foreshadowed and hidden in earlier chapters, but half of this was not shown until now so I hoped everyone enjoyed the big reveal! Or one of! It's only going to get more insane from here lol (and steamy *wink wink*)
> 
> Let me know what you thought and if you have any theories I'd love to hear them! Still more mysteries to unveil!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much love for the last chapter T_T you guys are spoiling me. I'm loving the reactions! 
> 
> I must warn everyone, this is probably the darkest chapter so far. I must have revised it several times, and may have paused to make a mix drink and bust out the Breaking Benjamin from my old teenage angst playlist, because this one is heavy. 
> 
> *WARNING! VERY IMPORTANT: I'm throwing a *trigger* warning out there for rape/non-consent themes and elements. As one SPOILER ALERT AHEAD! I would have added a harsher warning if it was a 'beginning-to-end' if you get my drift, but physical and emotional violence does play a part.
> 
> Also; violence, and angst, and revenge, and BAMFaction so buckle up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale realizes too late what happens when one ignores the importance of one's well being, and a new monster wreaks havoc upon the angel and her demon.

“Are you out of your mind!?” Aziraphale gasped with a surge of indignation and appall. As if the question had already stripped her of her clothing, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively with a shocked hand to her chest. Her blue eyes blazed with white-hot fury.

Charles had _never_ been so bold. He’d made advances, copped a feel without permission, whispered slimy comments in passing when his wife’s back was turned, but never in all her time of serving with Windsor family had he been so direct.

“You have _absolutely_ no right to request such a thing from me!” Aziraphale didn’t think she would be so angry—rightfully so—but so vocal so soon. The shock of it all bore no weight to the repressed anger erupting within her heart with all the heat of a raging volcano.

“After all that I said about you, you choose now to disobey my requests?” Charles spat, as if he had asked a simple small thing from her. It was beyond appalling. He stood there, angrier at her declination and surprised by the reaction like he fully believed she would just lay on her back and accept it? “I put money in your pitiful little coin purse, girl. I believe I do have a right—”

“—are you listening to yourself? You should be _ashamed_. I will not put up with this anymore.” That was an understatement to say the least; Aziraphale had endured more than enough for the sake of this assignment. It was no secret amongst the Windsor’s current staff that issues revolving around his lecherous behavior were ongoing, and it hurt the angel to see these women feel as though they could only signal for help through the pleading look in their eyes and the vague comments which drifted through brief conversations.

Aziraphale had brought it up once, to one of the female cooks. The angel asked why Charlotte wasn’t aware of this. She was, apparently. And she could not be less concerned with what her husband got up to while she wasn’t looking. The cook described Mrs. Windsor’s reaction as one with utter annoyance that this was being brought to her attention and the woman walked away feeling as though she had been scolded for bringing it up at all.

These two were horrible people. And she had to do something.

Aziraphale huffed angrily and turned to stomp out of the room. “I’m going to Charlotte about this, and if she doesn’t give a toss about your deplorable behavior, I will escalate this to a higher authority—!”

How this burly man crossed the distance so fast and so quiet took the angel by complete shock, and the next thing she knew her body was being propelled backward by the force of a bruising grip around her bicep. When she turned at the force, Charles was suddenly much closer, and his bloodshot eyes were now wild and furious.

When he snarled, he smelt of stale cigar smoke and gin. “Ungrateful wench _._ You should have been on your knees and ready for me the minute I let you into my home.”

The grip on her arm squeezed harder but Charles’ words were worse, and the angel could not focus on anything but the foul things he snarled at her. Aziraphale had to remember to breath, because her heart was pounding in her throat hard enough to choke. Fear threatened to overcome her, but she pushed it back.

“…get your hand off me.” It was a quiet warning. She did not want to have to hurt this human, no matter how twisted was one of The Almighty’s creations. Angels were not supposed to bring harm to Her creations while under their protection. And protection or not, Aziraphale would admit she never liked smiting humans. She was not Sandalphon, who got his rocks off at the mere thought of it. There was always a chance to save a wayward soul. Taking someone’s Free Will, turning them to ash or sand, none of that was needed if a devout Heavenly soldier of Her Will had enough patience and understanding.

Although, perhaps she would need to rethink a lot of her prior beliefs. The instant she uttered that silent warning, it appeared to have the opposite effect on Charles, who smiled with the promise of a challenge.

“And what will you do if I don’t?” He tugged her harder in a taunting jeer. “Run to a _higher authority_?”

A raging fire blazed in the angel’s eyes at the mocking comment. He wanted to see higher authority? She’d show him one.

This should have been the moment the air crackled with divine energy, and when she didn’t feel the familiar warmth of grace and heavenly strength she was too blinded by showing Charles a truth beyond his wildest understanding to notice.

“ _Get y_ **o** _u_ r _ha_ n **d** of _f_ **m** e—” It sounded like music from a broken instrument, and it froze her heart with cold dread which was not right at all; she should not feel cold, she should feel the blazing suns of her essence fueling her command. The air did not spark, and when she peered through her ethereal eye all she could see was a distorted blur. Like worn muscles, her wings only twitched when she tried to call for them, and her Eyes would not open to her pleas.

A mix of fear and embarrassment made her tremble with the realization of just how weak she had gotten since using her powers last night, and she cursed her foolishness for not giving enough attention to it sooner. All those warning signs, and she waved them off with blind ambition.

Unknown to her thoughts, Charles accepted her silence and fearful expression as submission to his threat and chuckled deep and gleeful.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself those higher authorities give a shit about a worthless maid. They don’t, my dear.” He began to slowly reel her towards him as his words transitioned from hateful to a mock tender.

“But I care, Azira. I’m trying to show you I care. So, I’ll give you one more chance to be a good little girl and we can overlook that nasty attitude of yours earlier.”

Her being felt almost empty, depleted, and suddenly very lonely. Like a part of her had been snuffed out and locked away. And it was all her fault. Reduced to the strength of her mortal corporation, she would have to figure it out on her own. Without Her light and warmth surrounding her in constant comfort, it was similar to a suffocated flame only able to sustain life by the sliver of oxygen remaining. What a privilege to take advantage of, she felt guilty.

“There we are,” Charles’ voice was closer now, sounding soft as though he were coaxing a frightened animal out of a corner. A strong arm circled around her lower back to draw her in. “Much better.”

_‘Heavenly Mother, I-I can barely feel you. I’m afraid…I’m afraid and I need you.’_

When her chest became flushed with Charles’, Aziraphale knew she needed to snap out of it quickly. There were more important matters on Her plate right now, and the blond angel almost felt ashamed of her fearful plea for Her to halt everything just to clean up her mess. She was on her own for the time being, and that was the coldest splash of reality she had ever experienced.

She was also a second too late to react, as with one last jerk he pressed her up against his solid body and the hand clenched around her arm let go. The relief was brief and barely noticeable before his next actions made her skin crawl.

A large palm planted near the back of her neck as thick fingers closed around her throat, thumb locking under the angel’s chin to raise her head up, taking advantage of her shock he treated it as obedience.

“That’s a good pet.” Was the last thing Aziraphale heard before her head was pushed forward until his lips were on hers, his mustache scratching the skin above her upper lip. He smelt of sweat and cigar smoke, and his lips stung with lingering traces of gin and tonic. She could barely make out something distinct buried just under the cigar stench; as if he had been rolling around in the grave soil of a soul damned to Hell. Humans did not smell like this.

And it quickly dawned on her that she had just enough strength in her ethereal senses to work, however muddled and fragile. It was not his body the smell was coming from; it was his soul.

It smelt of rot and corruption.

Charles tightened his grip around her lower back, and thinking she was too occupied to notice felt brave enough to slip his hand south to cup her backside.

She snapped out of her thoughts with a gasp and moved her hands up between them to plant flat on his chest and shoved hard, which didn’t put as much distance between them as she’d hoped when the force yanked his lips off hers, yet the arm around her kept her trapped.

It was a moment of surprise for them both, but Aziraphale acted faster; pulling back her right arm, she sailed an open palm across his cheek. It wrenched his head to one side and rendered him speechless with an open-mouthed gasp.

The arm around her and the hand around the back of her neck laxed, and she took full advantage of the loose hold to try and rip herself out of his grasp.

Charles recovered quickly and managed to reach out and grab her wrist at the last second. The last thing Aziraphale knew before her vision danced with stars was a resounding _smack_ which echoed off the walls around them. The sound was like a flash of lightning, and the dull ache spreading across the left side of her face felt like the rumbling thunder that followed, with it carrying her body into stunned disorientation.

She only barely made out the snarl in front of her, before a hulking black blur advanced on her.

“Little _bitch_. I gave you a chance to _want_ this.” Fingers curled into her low-cut collar and the force of his wrench ripped the fabric with an awful shriek to expose a portion of the corset underneath, blunt fingernails scraping her chest. Aziraphale had never felt true fear from the physical strength of a human, only ever overwhelmed when someone got so out of line, they threatened physical violence at the angel. She had not been on this Earth for six thousand years without a chance encounter of an angry human on the verge of a brawl. On the outside she would allow herself to look afraid, but a keen eye could tell it was only startlement, and any fear at that present time only for the thought of stacks of backbreaking paperwork for a damaged or deceased corporation…or the disapproving lavender eyes of her _real_ boss.

_Remember, Aziraphale…._

No, she would not think of him right now.

Aziraphale was thrown toward the pool table, and the solid wooden edge met her back with a red-hot jolt up her spine, rendering her legs shaky and unstable. It expelled the air in her lungs with a pained cry.

Charles was on her before she had time to recover; all around her with his unyielding force. She struggled in a haze of flailing arms and panicked shouts, but it was not good enough. As her body grew weak it left openings he quickly utilized. When she was lifted onto the edge of the pool table, she could not remember but whimpered as he forced his big body between her legs with disgusting intrusion.

Her wrists were restrained in one painful grip and held roughly against the surface of the table, effectively pinning her arms behind her at arduous angles. His sweaty face nuzzled into the crook of her neck and it bent her head to the side, taking the length of her pale throat possessively. A wet hot mouth all but sloppily lapped at her skin with starved kisses, his heavy puffs of breath sending shivers of disgust down her aching back.

“Get. Off!” She shouted and despised how her voice quivered. Tears flooded her vision and flowed down her cheeks. Her fingers snapped, and nothing happened.

In a desperate fight she was quickly losing, she snapped again, and again, and again.

The hand not pinning her wrists grabbed and explored down her body from her shoulder to the meat of her upper thigh, squeezing greedily like he was helping himself to a feast, taking fistfuls of the dress and shuffling it out of the way in a frantic search for the creamy soft skin underneath.

“Please…don’t do this….”

_Climb every mountain, cross every stream…even if that means the rockiest terrains and strongest currents…_

“Please stop…” Aziraphale hissed through clenched teeth, unsure who it was directed at. It did not matter. No one listened to her anyway.

_I’m not gonna to let you fail._

Warmth, somewhere small inside of the angel’s essence, kindled with everything in its power to remain strong. _Aziraphale you fool_ , she scolded. What was she thinking going on like the loneliest being in the universe? She was not alone. How could she think such a thing? She would be brave, for her dearest serpent, she would never allow herself to feel the dark empty loneliness that threatened to consume her. Charles could take her body, but he would never have _her_. She was already taken.

Charles muffled hungry words against her throat between kisses. “…been wanting this…for a while… _finally_ …knew I’s gonna have you…eventually.”

And Charles would very soon come to regret those words.

Aziraphale didn’t recognize the new sounds in the room until she saw something appear, as if fabricated out of thin air, and in her tear-blurred vision she could not for the life of her rationalize why she was staring into the angry expression of a gold cobra.

The kissing stopped, replaced by a gurgled cry against her neck before all at once the pressure on her wrists, the hand digging bruises in her thigh, and the space Charles filled were completely gone in one swift might. Her body felt pulled forward by the momentum of the split to slip boneless to the floor.

Her unfocused stare was level to a bloated red face contorted in fear and agony, bloodshot eyes bulging at the pressure of a long red cane being crushed into his throat by two gloved fists controlling the solid deep-red wood on either side of the man’s inflamed ears. His solid bulk dropped to his knees, or tried to, which caused him to only choke more when he could not rely on the ground to support his heavy weight and kicked and bucked his legs uselessly. Arms scrambled and hands clawed, but it was no use.

“Hello _, Charlessss~_.”

Aziraphale, already significantly weakened, nearly fainted at the demonic aura settling over the room. It was overwhelming, and it licked at her flesh. But she did not feel threatened, because instead of the aura trying to destroy her it wrapped around her like a blanket; protective and comforting, wisps of a certain demon’s essence hissing gentle nonsensical sounds across pale skin to sooth her raw nerves.

When the angel blinked the tears down her cheeks, she was able to focus on what was going on in front of her.

Charles continued to sputter and hack through his bruised windpipe as he was dragged backward by the strength of a towering dark body pressed up against the bigger man’s back. Crowley’s face appeared then, blackout spectacles nowhere to be seen replaced by impossibly large serpent eyes boiling with a ferocious anger that scorched yellow irises a vibrant orange. Pupils thinner than any line drawn from the sharpest inked quill were watching the many shades of color cross over the aristocrat’s face, from red to blue to spider-veined purple. It was a haunting contrast to the black scales which rippled in and out of existence across the tan skin of her demon’s thin face and exposed neck.

“You like overpowering otherssss weaker than you, do you?” Crowley’s voice was laden with a venom the angel had never heard before; deep, scratchy, and hushed with deadly reserve. When Charles made a noise that sounded like an attempted word, the cane squeezed harder.

“ _Sssso do I_.”

Aziraphale found herself in a panic when she watched the man’s eyes begin to roll up into his head, flailing hands turning to sluggish throws.

_He’s going to kill him._

Yet at the last second, Crowley turned his lean body and released the cane from only one hand, using his core strength he threw the man across the room in a stumbling, hacking mess to tumble across the floor.

Charles’ hand immediately went to his throat as if to claw the pain away, his back heaving greedy gulps of air and finally managed to bring himself to his knees with one arm propping himself up shakily. Crowley quietly sauntered toward the man, his tall stature rigid and prepared to strike any second. His arms swayed with each long step, bent stiff at the elbows.

Through his manic coughing spell, Charles croaked hoarsely, “…b-bloody…lunati—” the minute he peered up at Crowley their eyes locked, and Aziraphale didn’t have to see her demon’s expression to guess why the human’s skin grew several shades whiter. Whatever he saw, it had turned the cocky Lord Windsor into a sniveling worm.

“Had a feelin about you.” The words and the tone Crowley used should never go together the way it did then. The hand not gripping the cane made a fist, and knuckles cracked with a promise.

“I’ve had my _eyesss_ on you, Charles.”

A serpent taunting its food.

“I-I-I,” the big man trembled out through quivering lips and raised a pleading hand to the approaching demon. “n-now wait-wait, stop, p-please….”

The choked pleas stopped Crowley in mid-stride only a few feet apart from the cowering man, who jumped at the small opening to think he had the demon’s attention, or mercy, and tried to lift himself up on his knees as he gasped out through a bruised throat, “p-please—"

Aziraphale flinched at how fast Crowley moved suddenly. Curling one long leg up he sent the flat of his boot sailing into the man’s face, and the force threw the man’s body backwards to sprawl across the floor on his back.

“Did _YOU_ stop when _she_ pleaded!?” The demon roared from his chest. “Filthy _cretin_ , did _YOU_ listen to her pleas!? Did _YOU_ stop!?” Crowley lurched forward and threw a powerful kick square in the man’s ribs. Now standing stories tall over the writhing human, the serpent raised his hands and brought the cane up to wield like a bat, the blunt cobra head at the far end ready to come down without a shred of mercy.

_Stop him, Aziraphale._ The angel opened her mouth to intervene, and the sound that came out was a hiccupped sob. It was effective enough, leagues more than any words apparently when the noise turned the demon to stone.

The cane lowered, and thin shoulders climbed back down to proportion. Crowley lifted his head up, and he swiveled around on narrow hips to look behind him.

The angel must have looked like quite the spectacle; dress torn and rumpled much like her current state on the floor. A pale hand laid flat against her chest to cover any remaining modesty her ripped collar exposed, her other hand ghosting tepid fingers across the bruise forming on the left side of her face, and tears leaked down her blotched cheeks from flooded blue eyes. Her hair was a mess of tangled curls around her face and splayed across her shoulders from the scuffle on the pool table.

If she looked like a spectacle, then so did Crowley; the pinched rage adorning his tan and scaled face melted as slit pupils roamed over her appearance so unlike the way Charles’ hungry eyes had in the beginning that made her curl. His stare bore no shred of hunger, but bled concern and anguish the same time orange irises transitioned back to their familiar yellow hue.

“…Aziraphale....” It was not quite a question, not quite a call, but something akin to discern for himself. The sound of her name on his lips broke something inside the angel in that instant, and she would give the moon and stars to be wrapped in his protective embrace, to have him all around her and promise to shut the world out for as long as she needed.

The angel tried to speak again and could not help the sob which cracked her voice. “C-Crowley….” A wave of fresh hot tears bubbled on her lashes to spill down paved tear-tracks.

With a split-second miracle, Crowley was no longer towering over Charles across the room and before the angel could find him, she was blinded by a flurry of movement immediately in front of her. Crowley dropped to his knees, cane now limp at his side clutched in one hand. He looked at her with impossibly large eyes similar to a frightened lost boy, the hand not gripping the cane reaching out for her cautiously as if she would shatter in a million pieces if he moved too fast.

“Oh, _Angel_.” He whispered pained and broken. When his hand covered hers still touching her discolored cheek it was just the right amount of gentleness, but the slight ache of the bruise made her wince slightly, and his wince mimicked hers. A coughing spell erupted in the distance, and it sounded like Charles was thrown into a fit of excruciating hacks. He was immediately ignored.

She must have looked so pitiful. Weak little angel that she was.

“I..I-I’m alright….” She lied.

Crowley gently tilted his head to one side and his eyes narrowed softly.

“No, you’re not.” The comment should have hurt, but it was too refreshing when he said it in that special way of his. “…but that’s okay. You don’t have to be right now.”

Aziraphale almost lost control then, but she would remain strong for her brave serpent. His next words almost stressed any thinned self-control she had left, however.

“Because you’re safe now, Aziraphale.” He leaned in, lowering his head slightly just so he could look up at her. Those eyes were grounding, and he meant every word. “You’re not alone now. I’m here.”

His words, however, were not the sudden reason for his name being gasped from her lips. It was what had just appeared behind him. “Crowley…!”

“I’m here, Ang—” Large hands came down on Crowley’s shoulders and silenced him mid-word with a shocked look flashing across the demon’s face, meaty fingers digging into his shoulders through the layers of clothing and _lifted_ the demon’s lithe form straight up.

A guttural roar pierced through the air, and Crowley was launched back, gangly limbs trailing after his body as he skid across the floor on his back, having no second to recover before the massive expanse of Charles’ great body was on top of him, thighs as well as weight pinning the serpent to the ground.

“Crowley!?” Aziraphale shrieked. “Charles, _stop!!_ ”

“He’s not Charles _anyerrgh_ —!” The shout was cut short by a hand around his throat, and Crowley had managed to struggle enough to slip his cane between their bodies with two hands on each end just in time to stop the now mindless Lord Windsor from taking a bite out of him. The clack of the human’s teeth as his jaw chomped air was a loud and horrible noise.

“Big sonofa-bollocks, yer'heavy…!” Crowley cursed through a constricted throat, shoving the wood of the cane into the other man’s throat to slow him down. With his hands much too occupied, he couldn’t snap his fingers or wave a miracle, and it was apparent Crowley was too distracted at the current moment to summon any additional demonic energy until he could get his bearings.

Aziraphale watched in horror, fighting against the petrification holding her body hostage. Her demon’s arms visibly trembled as the unrestrained force of Charles’ strength bore down on him, wearing Crowley down by every agonizingly slow inch closing the distance between the Windsor’s starved chomping.

Sirens blared in her mind, flares going off behind her eyes, screaming _do something do something do something._ Frantically, her eyes scanned over everything in the room nearby until they locked on their chosen target.

The angel couldn’t quite remember what happened after her shaking legs launched her up from the ground, but she fortunately came to right at the moment she stopped a foot above the two scrambling bodies at her feet. Crowley didn’t seem to notice her presence, and she couldn’t get a good shot with her demon in and out of the line of attack.

She raised her arms and held the heavy ceramic vase above her head.

“Duck!”

Confusion crossed Crowley’s face for only a second before he finally glanced at her, and she saw the very instant he rationalized which _duck_ she was referring to.

“Oh!” Crowley threw his head out of the way and flattened his body against floor, and that was just enough an opening for her to swing. When ceramic collided hard with skull, the vase shattered and it ripped a pained howl from Charles.

The distraction was much needed for Crowley, who used the human’s disorientation to thrust the uneven weight to the left and threw the man off of him to roll away lifelessly, and scrambled back by elbows and heels until he almost crawled into Aziraphale’s legs.

She discarded the pieces of ceramic in her hands with a toss and dropped down to meet her demon, her hands now all over him foregoing the fact that her fingers roamed over his chest, his stomach, shoulders, arms. She made sure to only hover over the burning red fingerprints against the flesh of his throat.

“M-My dear, are you hurt? Where—”

He brushed her panicked hands off tenderly. “M’alright, Angel-m’fine, m’fine.” He sounded like he needed to catch his breath. “Am now, thanks t’you. That was bloody brilliant, Angel. Damn quick thinking, you.”

She sighed, one shoulder shrugging a little. Their playful chatter would have to wait for a more suitable occasion.

“Why…why did he attack you like that…?”

Crowley finally looked at her, and she sorely wished it wasn’t with _that_ expression.

“We’ve got trouble. Remember when I said _it was hitting the ceiling_ , and we should be ready for what comes next?”

She nodded.

“Well,” she didn’t miss the pained wince in his brows when he cleared his now-bruising throat, “less’just say the whole ceiling’s being ripped off.”

Oh, lovely.

“ _Rrrrrraaaagh_!”

The crumbled mass of Charles Windsor reanimated with a lurch of his arms a few feet away from them. The head wound had done enough damage to turn his rampage to sluggish drunken movements, but the determination of a mindless human new no bounds it seemed.

The hand reaching out for purchase tried to grab Crowley’s ankle, but he was so slow it was barely a fight. The demon raised his boot and sailed a heel into the hand, kicking—or more like shooing—the weak attempts.

“This fucking guy,” the redhead swore under an annoyed growl, “even in death, the bastard’s grabby.”

Suddenly, with some renewed vigor, Charles shot both arms out and successfully grabbed onto both skinny ankles.

Aziraphale was now getting very tired of Lord Wanker. Crowley wouldn’t have referenced _in death_ if he was positive there was still life worth salvaging in this man, but his actions reminded her of the insane man bowling over himself to harm the children not but a full earth’s rotation ago. So, despite her promises to never smite or intentionally harm a human if she could help it, she never said anything against smiting a monster who had _dared_ to lay a finger on her demon.

The angel looked up to send a silent prayer for whatever she was about to do and found her next decision swaying silently above their heads. Quickly, she sprung into action and followed the thick rope that extended down to the metal latch on the wall.

It all happened so fast after that.

Her shaking hands grabbed the lever, and she turned her head.

“Crowley!”

“Little busy!” He called back while still kicking the man trying to nip at his ankles.

“ _Crowley!_ ”

This time he looked at her, quirked a brow, blinked, looked up, looked back down, blinked again, and an evil grin nearly split his face in half.

“With _style_ , Angel!”

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

As soon as she pulled the lever, the rope swiveled away with the speed of a retracting whip, and Aziraphale dashed forward as fast as her legs could carry her.

Crowley sent one last powerful heel aimed directly at Charles’ head wound, which stunned the monster bad enough to release the hold on the demon’s ankles.

The groaning of a massive wrought iron chandelier could be heard just above their heads as candles shook in their holsters and intricately cut crystals rattled with the force of gravity. Aziraphale chose at that moment to dive across the last remaining distance, outstretching her arms just in time for her demon to open his own. Her soft body collided with his in a wrapped embrace now swallowed by the shadow of the falling chandelier. It could not have been more perfect timing for Charles to collect himself and leap toward them with a ripe snarl from his frothy lips.

The last thing Aziraphale remembered was Crowley’s body tensing before her skin prickled with demonic energy, and in the blink of an eye was thrusted into a completely new environment of smells and temperatures and moods before they were free falling onto soft bedding and bounced at the impact of their shared weight against a mattress beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say poor Charles, but...y'know, fuck that guy. Anyway, I hoped everyone enjoyed this thrilling chapter and it wasn't too emotionally draining for anyone! I really wanted Crowley's appearance to be at a heart racing last second, because poor Aziraphale :'( she deserved that dashing rescue only her dazzling demon can deliver!
> 
> Oh, and btw SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!- remember those steamy moments I mentioned earlier? Guess what's coming in Chapter 15. ;P


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double the size of any of prior chapter *kneels and bestows* I present...Chapter Fifteen! Two straight days, I did not realize how much plot had to be addressed for the story to get here, and from all the wonderful feedback from last chapter, I was so excited to post this I couldn't wait any longer. I can't thank everyone enough for the wonderful compliments and support. 
> 
> WARNINGS: harsh language, physical violence to innocent room decor, and of course...( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) But for real, strong sexual content!

After the third bounce, both Crowley and Aziraphale remained tightly wrapped in each other’s arms for another lingering minute in the quiet stillness of the room, save for the frantic breathing of newly arrived inhabitants who still grappled with the psychological aspect of no longer being in the billiard room rather than physical.

Crowley was the first one to move; being the body who broke the fall and was far from complaining about it given what and who he was sandwiched between, unwound his arms from Aziraphale’s smaller softer frame to prop his top-half on bony elbows anchoring into the plush bed beneath him.

Where the heaven did he transport them to? An enormous bed pillared by an equally enormous wooden frame sat smackdab in the middle of a room much too large to be a bedroom. A small area one could call an entire living room was nestled to one side fashioned around a fireplace. The narrow walkway on the opposite side led off to what could only be assumed as a luxurious private bath, and that was not because Crowley could see half of an extravagant bathtub just beyond the walkway in the next room; it was that and everything else around him.

Had he been here before? There was something very familiar about the lavish paintings and grand expensive curtains framing the large oval window, but he couldn’t quite place it. Though no sooner than he’d asked himself did it suddenly click into place.

“This is my room.”

That was one mystery solved, at least.

A subconscious part of Crowley assumed he would get a reaction from Aziraphale at that, and suddenly wondered why it did not. Moreover, she had not moved from her place currently sprawled on top of him. Her arms were still wrapped tightly around his thin torso. When the demon glanced down, he could not see her face from the messy mop of curly blond hair.

He did not blame her hesitation to act so soon. It surprised the demon how quickly he recovered, and he felt like someone had stuck a syringe of pure adrenaline in his neck; nerves on fire, he was so wound up it was possible his corporation could deadlift an elephant right now.

Crowley quietly debated if he should call out to her, nudge her even, but after a quick process of elimination he decided to go for the light humored approach.

He dropped his chin to his chest and sighed into her hair. “…the chandelier bit, now _that_ was unexpected.”

The demon waited, and the angel made no move to respond. He swallowed. “…have to make sure to detail that part in the reports…leave out the _you and I_ bit somehow, but makes for a good retelling to the higher ups, eh?”

Somewhere in the room a clock ticked, sounding the many seconds of silence that passed by.

The angel twitched again, and Crowley had no time to realize what it meant before he felt a harsh sob against his lean chest. Aziraphale buried her head into his clothes until he could feel her face pressed against his ribcage. Shaking fingers dug into his back, dragging blunt fingertips across the fabric.

The serpent remained still, equal parts shocked and understanding when muffled cries increased in pitch and speed until it hit him that Aziraphale was sobbing. Every hitched breath, every shake of her shoulders was like a nail in the demon’s heart.

Aziraphale cried at the ending of gloomy Shakespeare plays, and at the ending of a good book, at the last bite of a chocolate truffle. His angel never sobbed as if her poor heart had just had the weight of the world collapse on her. Angels as pure and clever as his should never need a reason to sob like she did now.

After all that just happened, Crowley couldn’t shake the self-deprecating fear of failure at realizing he didn’t do enough to keep her safe. She had been through so much in such a short period of time, and the stress which took its toll on her was evident. And where was Crowley? Oh, he was there the entire time letting it all happen and _never_ doing enough that mattered. Stupid demon. Reckless demon. Worthless demo—

“ _I’m sorry._ ”

He was certain he heard that weak little apology swimming in her sea of cries and not from his own mouth where it made more sense.

Crowley swallowed. “Why are you sorry?”

Her sobs held steady as she stuttered around them. “ _I failed…failed everyone._ ”

Before he could question, she continued brokenly, and fingers pressed harder into his back. “ _I-I…should have told Gabriel the truth…couldn’t handle this-this job…only to disappoint everyone, everyone_ —”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Crowley immediately bit his cheek; he didn’t mean for that to come out so exasperated, it only caused the angel to sob harder.

“ _I lost my powers!”_ She shouted into his chest, and hearing the unspoken knowledge hurt worse than simply knowing. “ _…stupid angel, not even noticing until…what kind of guardian angel kills what they’re sw-sworn to protect?_ ”

That time Crowley meant the exasperation. “Angel, he was attacking you. You were defending yourself!”

Messy curls danced across them as she shook her head frantically, and the demon didn’t understand what she meant, nor could he make out the words in her muffled whimpers.

“ _…no, that’s n-not, no—_ ”

“—no, you weren’t defending yourself or no he was not attacking you? Because both are damn dirty lies, Angel—”

“—because he was attacking _you_!” Blond hair quickly became two tear-swollen eyes in Crowley’s vision, and a different kind of quiet settled over the room then.

“I couldn’t let him…I couldn’t let him kill you, I wouldn’t!” Aziraphale was babbling through tears now. “I wouldn’t have if it were me, but how would I have lived with myself if I let him hurt you, Crowley?”

_Oh._

"But I didn’t think, I just-just a-acted and now it’s all over. There had to have been another way, but not for me. Impulsive, selfish, you promised you wouldn’t let me fail, and off I go making an _excellent_ show of reckless abandon and mess things up for both of us! There is no assignment for me anymore because there was no way someone as foolish an angel as Aziraphale could manage to see it through—!”

It was out before Crowley could catch it; the laugh he let out sounded as genuine as it also sounded absolutely demeaning considering the kind of insecure tangent his angel unleashed, and the latter could be seen in the heartbreak on her face. But Crowley was a stubborn bastard and adrenaline was one hell of a thing.

His head fell back until his shoulders cradled the weight, rebellious red locks breaking free to hang back at the force of the movement, and for a moment his stare at the ceiling could have been interpreted as a prayer. He laughed again and felt Aziraphale cringe against him.

“Why are you—?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just…I have the silliest angel laying on top of me right now. You should really see this from where I’m sitting.”

If she didn’t get it now it was her own fault, and the way her fingers worried into the fabric of his clothes confirmed it.

He sighed softly. “You gotta meet this angel, Aziraphale. Get this; she’s sitting on me-tears streaming down her face going on about how she’s a worthless angel because she refused to harm someone who was literally attacking her—” he paused only a moment to lift his head back up, purposefully not meeting her eyes as one of his arms raised up to lean their shared weight on the other elbow to reach behind him and plucked one of her arms from his waist with only his thumb and index finger around her small wrist. He brought the wrist up between them slowly and inched the back of her hand toward his lips.

“—yet when her friend was in danger, she sacrificed the greater good for a decision she made of her own Free Will…her own greater good, because she believed it was the right thing to do. Can’t make this stuff up-and after she shows the bravest, most cleverest quick thinking these sinner eyes of mine ever witnessed, wants to proceed and call herself a disappointment—a _failure_ of an angel.”

The smooth skin of her pale knuckles was like silk on his lips. He wanted to devour them but chose to plant a featherlight kiss on them instead.

Occupied but not distracted, Crowley finished with a low-rumbled, “I think you would like her if you met her. She’s really something.”

He couldn’t help himself then and glanced to meet her eyes curiously to see how his words affected her. Right on the nose, as expected. Crowley would never make her dry her eyes if she needed to cry, so he welcomed the fresh overflow of tears cascading down her flushed cheeks so long as they waterfalled down a sweet gentle smile.

Somehow, that little smile made him feel like he could do right by his angel. The universe would let him have that.

The love and adoration pouring out of Aziraphale would have left a demon-shaped pile of ashes on the bed if he were any old demon. But Crowley welcomed the scorching divine heat of her affection like the masochist he was.

“You…” she hiccupped adorably, “…foul fiend. I hope you don’t go and tempt that poor angel too much.”

Behind angelic knuckles that were being lavished with demonic attention, he playfully winced and groaned softly. “Might be too late for that.” And winked.

Like he said before, adrenaline was a hell of a thing.

A beat of silence passed as they stared into each other’s eyes, the angel slowly lifting herself up to sit on her own. It did not go unnoticed that the arm still secured around his back did not let go as she moved, and he was all too glad to follow her unspoken instruction.

She sniffled and Crowley wanted to pinch her nose with his fangs but pocketed that idea for a later time.

“Are you feeling better?”

He didn’t get an immediate reply, so he waited patiently as her eyes roamed unfocused in front of her, slipping her wrist from his loosening hold to fold against her chest; a habit of comfort no doubt.

“Yes, n-not completely, but…I think so.” It was not an absolute admission of _perfect_ or as the angel had recently started saying: _tickety boo,_ it might has well have been because to Crowley it was the total and honest truth, and that’s all Crowley would ever ask from his angel.

“There’s a start.” He encouraged her with a small nudge of his shoulder into hers.

“Where are we?” Aziraphale swiveled her head around with the curiosity of a sleepy owl.

“My guestroom. I guess it was the first place I could think of when we zipped out of there.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Crowley snorted. “It’s too big.”

“You’re not wrong.”

They sat there, both heads swiveling around like owls taking in the room quietly. After a while, Crowley glanced to something just to the side of Aziraphale’s face but caught the bluish discoloration of her cheek. Anger boiled up his throat to rest a growl on his tongue. There was no mistaking the shape of the bruises were distinctly fingerprints, and it tempted the demon to transport back to the billiard room, lift the chandelier of that monstrous twit and make him eat every inch of wrought iron.

“Does it hurt?” That was a stupid question, Crowley inwardly hissed, of course it did—

“I should ask the same about your poor throat.”

He blinked, and remembered that yes, the steady ache in his neck on the far side of his attention was probably an equally ugly bruise. He nodded and was certain it was the same answer to his question.

Narrow shoulders shrugged, and the demon sniffled nonchalantly. “You should see the other guy.” He couldn’t help the little spasm of elbow jabs into her side. It wasn’t the smile he got only a moment ago, as it did not meet her eyes, but he wouldn’t give up that easily.

“Good thing we’re occultist beings, we can just miracle ‘em away.” He twinkled his fingers in the air for emphasis.

Aziraphale pouted. “Ethereal, dear. Not occultists.”

“Same thing.”

There was something oddly relieving about removing gloves, and the cool air chilled his hands. With a wiggle of his fingers he reached up and smoothed an open palm across his throat. Aziraphale watched him silently, her gaze slightly unfocused but just interested enough to appear thoughtful.

The ache was gone as soon as Crowley lowered his hand, the bruised flesh now healed and only a memory. And when the demon stretched his neck for some much-deserved pops, the ripple of pain in his shoulders made him flinch.

“Tch, overgrown wanker. Didn’t realize his gorilla hands caused so much damage.” Though he did not need to explain that to _her_ , and that was an awful notion. He didn’t want to think about that right now. His hands reached up to unbutton his vest and began removing the layers of clothing with irritable grumbles.

“Too many layers in this century. Wh’happen to wearing bedsheets—togas, whatever. Simpler times.”

Crowley paused when he heard a noise akin to a chair squeaking across tile floor, and Aziraphale’s pinched expression and pink cheeks gave her away.

“What are you doing?”

The serpent shrugged and continued to untuck his undershirt from his pants. “Whatsit look like, I’m trying to get these bruises off. Not a fan of bruises, me. Can’t stand the ugly things.” And that was putting it lightly. Crowley _despised_ bruises. Plus, the angel had seen his bare chest before, nothing new. And if he teased her now, she would look away and he could selfishly admit he did not want her to.

When the last button on the last layer was unfastened, the demon made quick work of removing the unsightly bluish-purple blotches from his hips, collarbone, and the hideous deep purple and red handprints on either side of his shoulders. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it looked, but it spoke in volumes of what Crowley and Aziraphale could be up against soon.

As if his skin could feel the stare from those angel eyes watching him quietly, goosebumps prickled the skin of his lean stomach and he couldn’t help but shiver and steal a glimpse of Aziraphale’s expression only a little disappointed when instead of catching a shy stare he saw how her ocean eyes flooded with remorse and melancholy.

“Thank you, Crowley.”

He grunted at those words but would not correct her this time. “Hn, what for?”

“For…,” he was proud of her for carrying on despite her bad habits of keeping things to herself, “…coming when you did, for pulling him off me.” Her body shifted inwardly at the memory.

“Silly angel, of course I would…. Always.” That time the angel’s smile met her eyes. Remembering he had to be the demonic one here, and that demons shouldn’t like sweet smiles and loving words of thanks, Crowley snorted haughtily and turned his attention back to double checking every bruise was wiped away.

“Yeah, well…Charles had it comin. He’s lucky you’re a better being than I and stopped me before I did something really nasty.” Crowley felt a tangent coming on, and when Aziraphale didn’t stop him he took it as an invitation. “Filthy bastard; thinking he has the right to treat others like that. Disgusting.” And there was of course the issue with this foul human thinking he had the right to put his grubby paws on Crowley’s angel. Above all the other atrocities, that one was the most unforgivable sin.

“He’ll burn with the rest of ‘em, down there.” The comment was not lighthearted nor was it meant to be. “Of course, my sympathies for the children. Though, I sincerely question if those two would have any respect for their _father_ if they knew how he carried on…putting women through that….”

Crowley realized what he was saying too late, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut and looked over at Aziraphale, whose distant expression and glassy eyes made the demon want to smack himself for bringing it up.

“Angel… _shit_ , ignore me. I didn’t meant to bring up—”

“No,” she whispered, “no, you’re right. It’s the truth. Charles…he made me question my responsibilities to this family.” She sighed with a hesitant pause, and Crowley waited for the next part. “The children, in my mind, were the most important part about all of this. I’ve come to firmly believe that. For them, I forgave a lot, turned a blind eye for the sake of accomplishing the task at hand. After the first few times, it just…just go so out of hand—”

“What?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale turned to him curiously, and whatever expression he let show must have been very noticeable judging by the way her eyes widened.

“First few times…,” Crowley repeated her words in his mouth, hating the bitter taste, “…what does that mean?”

Aziraphale stared at him, and it was obvious she was trying to mentally back-peddle her words.

“Ah, I mean…first few-they-they weren’t _this_ , obviously, but—”

“Angel.”

He did not need to say anything more. She bit her lip and nodded quietly. Communication was something they both sorely needed to work on, and though it was a painful topic he could understand if she wasn’t ready to address, it was one that had been lingering between them and had already thrown a wrench in their channel of communication once before.

“…I wasn’t the only one he acted like a lecherous brute to, far from the first I’m sure, but…it seemed like he favored a certain type…and I guess I met those qualifications.”

“What does _that_ mean?” She would have to forgive his snarl. Emotions were high, and the serpent felt a little too exhausted for reading behind lines right now.

Aziraphale all but chewed on her bottom lip, her body tensing. “…it was small comments here and there when I first moved into the Windsor’s home. Nothing I couldn’t brush off; you know how humans can be. And as time went…well, Charles seemed to grow bolder. Comments became small advances, requests, and when I didn’t reciprocate, he got…handsy.” When his eyes widened, she quickly added, “a brush-up-against in a hallway, a small smack on the bottom...I didn’t like the chin-tipping, that was rather annoying and—oh dear.”

Oh dear was right. Crowley felt like he was going to burst into flames at the growing fury boiling his blood. Probably looked like it too.

Through now clenched teeth, he growled. “Last night, before our argument in the hallway….” Aziraphale knew what he was referencing and picked the comment up from there with a confirmed nod. “…I was already feeling weary after everything going on, not noticing my powers may have been weakening at that point. I wasn’t…I wasn’t in the mood for it. Charlotte had a bit too much to drink that night, so after she fell asleep….”

She was on her own at this point, Crowley refused to fill in the blanks this time. He wanted to know. He wanted her to tell him, only because he felt certain she needed to hear it from her own lips.

“…he asked if he could…,” it was painful for them both to hear, but they both understood how important it was, “…he could come inside my bedroom. _Keep me company_ , was what he called it.”

Slimy son of a bitch. Crowley swallowed the building rage. He hissed. “And when you said no….”

“Of course!” She clarified strongly. “But of course, no one can tell _Lord Windsor_ no, so he got fussy…pressed again, but I held my ground. He stomped off to his own room, and…that was that.”

“However,” the angel pressed on, “what he did just now…he’s done plenty enough, but that was excessive even for his character.”

Charles was definitely to blame; however, Crowley was certain the hostility behind his intentions were fueled by the demonic miasma that poisoned his soul. And it suddenly dawned on the demon that of the two of them, he was the only one with that knowledge.

“Angel, I don’t know how to put this,” he started, but immediately stopped when a more pressing issue surfaced to the forefront of his mind and he quickly put a pin in that topic of discussion for later. “First, you should take care of yourself. Get those bruises off, you’ll want full attention for this next part.”

He waited patiently for his suggestion to sink in. The quiet downward glance of her eyes and soft frown was not what he anticipated.

“I, ah…,” with a hunch of her shoulders she whispered meekly, “… _can’t heal them on my own._ ”

Stupid demon, he scolded himself, of course she couldn’t. The realization sunk like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. With a pinched expression, he rubbed his thighs nervously with the palms of his hands.

“Oh. Yeah, right….”

Crowley thought of the steady-minded rationality of the doctor he had grown to respect as a friend, and distantly wondered how he would handle this. After all, he did promise himself he would try that approach.

“I could…,” he paused, opened his mouth and closed it several times before deciding to just blurt it out, “heal them for you…if you like.”

Aziraphale pinned him with a surprised wide-eyed stare. And Crowley being the suave collected demon he was not, immediately recoiled back and blindly misinterpreted the flushed glow on her face as indignation rather than anything else.

“Bold, that was bold. Yeah. Ah, yikes.” He blew a sigh from his lungs and furiously rubbed at the back of his head. “Nevermi—”

“—a lovely offer, Crowley.” Her gentle voice brought him back from panic. “If you…if you wouldn’t mind…?”

Now it was the demon’s turn to glow like a boiled lobster. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah! Ah, I mean yeah, I cou’do that, yeah.”

With a trying smile, Aziraphale leaned herself toward him in a silent invitation, and _Lord Satan_ he was not ready for this. Or was he too ready? What would Thaddeus do?

“Right. I’ll just.” His hand raised and dearly hoped his angel did not notice the nervous tremble before his palm gently steadied on the warm plush of her bruised cheek. She leaned into it with eyes fluttering closed. She was so _soft_ , it was a sin for just one touch to do so much to his wicked heart. He hated how much he wanted to touch more of her, in places that did not need healing but could use a bite, or a lick, or a kiss or—

His pants immediately felt twice as tighter, and that thought train needed to derail _right now_. Crowley pulled his hand back slowly, and almost smiled at the healthy complexion of her chubby cheek. Job well done, that wasn’t so hard. All that fuss over what?

Blue eyes fluttered open at the loss of his touch and smiled big and bright at him appreciatively. “Oh, my dear, that feels much better. Thank you.”

“Nrgh. ‘Course.” Topic change. They needed a topic change.

“Remember to add that to your report. Y’know, the-the parts where Windsor…look, just make sure you don’t leave that out. It’s important those stuffy pigeons up there know what you went through for this bloody assignment.”

The subconscious part of him that knew to expect Aziraphale’s reactions came back full throttle when, yet again, the response he was waiting for did not happen. A quick glance to the side, and a very horrible wave of something dreadful he could not figure out what threatened to rip his heart right out through the front door of his sternum.

That expression said it all right down to the moment she glanced away, full bottom lip being sucked between perfect teeth to worry like an ill-tasting snack. Dainty fingers curled into fists against her tummy and pressed inward in a way that could only interpret an unconscious habit to sooth a sudden surge of nausea.

A ringing sounded from somewhere in the room, and it took the demon too long to realize it was coming from inside his ears, and maybe it was steam, and maybe his insides were on fire, and maybe it was the oncoming screeching of something very deep and very sinister trying to break free with the same familiar mindless rage that crawled out of that boiling sulfur pit so many millennia ago.

It screamed like it had then, and the sheer force of rage behind it threatened to tear himself in two.

“They knew….”

When Aziraphale did not correct him, something snapped.

Crowley didn’t remember when he stood up from the bed, but he did remember the awful intensity of glass exploding around them. Vases, elegant china, mirrors, didn’t matter they didn’t deserve to exist if they could not withstand his wrath.

If he exhaled now, he was not sure what would come screeching out of his wretched soul along with it.

Scales rippled into existence over his skin from the ethereal plain nearly caused him to transform, racking his thin body with spasms just to stop the transition. Fingertips buzzed as blunt human fingernails grew into stained-black claws. One hand flew up to grab fistfuls of red hair in a thoughtless attempt to keep back the scales from replacing his scalp.

“Crowley?” He could not see her, but the shocked-concern combination in her tone was enough to know his angel was watching his struggle with alarm. “My dear, please…calm yourself, I didn’t mean to—”

“They knew….”

Judging by the pause, the angel cringed at his words. “…you…how are you surprised by this?” She gasped when he snarled viciously at the question. “…I-I-sorry, I mean…a-angels, you-you know how they are—how _we_ are,” she quietly corrected that last part, “…anything to-to get the job done. Gabriel and Michael, they…they didn’t need to really say it for it to be implied.”

The windowpanes adorning the far wall cracked elegant webs across the thick glass.

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale sounded breathless as she pleaded, “…dear, please, you must calm down. I’m…I’m worried to talk to you when you’re like this….”

For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Crowley refused to listen to his angel’s pleas.

“ _They knew!!_ ” He roared into the room, and paintings tore, and somewhere nearby a wooden chair exploded into millions of splinters. He should have calmed when Aziraphale hunched forward and cupped hands over her ears. He did not, and right now he didn’t think himself capable.

Claws clenched hard into his scalp, threatening to tear the flesh and welcome the ooze of mortal blood. Fangs elongated so fast one sharp tip grazed a hair-length away from puncturing through the meat of his lip.

“Crowl—!”

“Those _monsters_ , they knew…this whole time,” his wheezed breaths broke his words in panic-induced pieces as lungs heaved never enough air with each choked convulsion, “…and they…they let you wa-walk into it….” He was panicking. Fear of losing control battled with the fear of breaking down under the pressure and lost the war to the animosity of his essence coiling around his bones like the serpent he was.

“Did…,” his chest ached, “did _he_ know what would happen? To you?”

“…who is _he_ , dea—”

“You know _goddamn_ well who!” The curse ripped a small cry from the angel, and he hated himself for it.

“…yes.” Her broken whisper made the truth seem all the more miserable.

“ _How_?”

Crowley would not wait to hear the confusion and considered the silence instead. “How do you know?”

He did not want to hear it anymore, but he needed to. In his peripheral vision, Aziraphale straightened her posture and suddenly spoke in a tone she only used when reciting her boss.

“ _Remember, Aziraphale; climb every mountain, cross every stream…even if that means the rockiest terrains and strongest currents._ ” She relaxed somewhat thoughtfully. “Though I will swear it to my grave, being this gender for the assignment was comforted by the strength I saw you possess while _you_ were a female, but…it was not why I _had_ to be….”

Crowley realized the error in his ways too late; he should have never convinced himself he needed to hear this. He no longer wanted to; it was too much.

The convulsion brought upon by an enraged shout from his lips almost dropped the serpent to his knees. The claws not painfully wound in his hair clenched into a fist with enough strength to sink talons into his palm, eliciting squelching pops as the skin broke through bloody under the incisive force.

“I will not tell you these things if they cause you to hurt yourself! I won’t!” Aziraphale cried out, body launching off the bed to stand near him. The waver in her voice did not break her steadfast determination. “You want honest truth, Crowley, then you can’t act like this!”

Darkness creeped into his vision at the strain of snake eyes rounded until his sockets cried out under the strain of their volume, and it made his head throb with deafening thunder. He wanted to kill something, watch it tear apart under his claws. Archangels danced in his mind and all he wanted to do was _maim._

Stone walls cracked in the distance which echoed around them. The wooden frame of the bed groaned with the first wave of splinters. But neither sounded more painful than the crackling of his bones beginning to shift from man to serpent starting with the bones sprouting from his spine to cut through hastily shifting organs making room for the new addition of ribs which stretched his waist irregularly.

A shout somewhere close by fell on deaf ears.

Behind blinded sight, Crowley missed the moment his best friend moved toward him until a hand clamped down on the nape of his neck at the same time a shorter solid body pressed up against his front with a firm grasp of his hip, guiding him into warmth his body didn’t know it craved.

Time slipped away in the blink of an eye, bringing Crowley hurdling to reality just as the hand on his neck pushed his head down into the crush of damp plump lips against his.

Any rage fueling the engine of his transformation dissolved instantly, grinding the said engine to a shuddering halt. The screaming within the depths of his essence subsided to quiet purrs as bones shifted and organs rearranged to appropriation. The damage he caused around them did not fix itself, because by that time he had already realized what was happening to give a damn about the state of the room.

Full breasts heaving with air pressed against his torso, pressing, and pressing, with a rhythm unbreakable like the seconds that passed by. Wild blond strands tickled his cheeks, a small pointed nose nestled against the side of his. A rush of cold refreshing water over his charred heart, that was the only thing he could compare this to.

Confident fingers dug into the demon’s hipbone and neck, keeping his impossibly closer and there was no power in this world with more effort those fingers put in now to restrain Crowley where he stood; restrain being the outlier word in all this because he was too submissive to feel restrained by anything his angel did. He would do _anything_ she commanded of him.

Panic dwindled to a sedated lull, eyes normalized, claws retracted to blunt edges, Aziraphale’s lips were that of a cure to the insidious poison in his veins. Human fingers twitched, and Crowley wrapped his long arms around his angel’s plump frame winding almost all the way around her in the depth of his embrace. A slight squeeze pulled a whimper from her soft little mouth as he pulled her in close.

Thousands of years in waiting for this, and the kiss still felt leagues better than what he could only ever have imagined.

Before Crowley realized what he was doing his fingers rebelled against any etiquette ever taught to knead into the lush perfection of his angel’s body that dared anyone and anything to take it away. _My angel, my perfect angel._

Something hot and wet trickled down the hollow edges of his face, and it was the trigger he needed to ground himself back to earth and see if all of this was nothing but an anger-induced hallucination or a reality too far from real. Arms unwound to plant gentle hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulled her back gently with a parting sigh against their lips. She dipped down off the tips of her toes to average height, needing a few seconds of open-mouth bliss until she could flutter her magnificently round eyes open dreamily, tears spilling from swirling blue irises.

They stared at each other in silent wonderment, neither daring to break the eye contact in fear of their worlds shattering at the loss.

It was a long time before either of them spoke.

“Crowley…” here it comes; time to lick wounds alone in an empty bed reserved for one greedy, disgusting snake—

“Don’t leave me,” Aziraphale’s voice was so uncharacteristically small and yet it sounded so strong, “…y-you looked as though you were slipping away…,” the hiccup warned of an oncoming sob, “and I-I was scared…nothing frightens me more than you leaving me, Crowley.” Her cries came down on him with the weight of a downpour.

“P-Please don’t—”

“Never.” Crowley’s lithe body swooped down and embraced his angel close, resting his forehead to hers and nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. Round eyes looked up finding nothing but an age-old truth. “I could never do such a thing.” The tremble in her puffy lips caught his attention. “Why would I ever leave someone as amazing as you?”

Crowley initiated the next kiss. Thin fingers crawled up Aziraphale’s shoulder to comb through thick blond curls until they fastened at the base of her skull keeping her locked in place, and judging from the way her body melted into his arms spoke truths beyond his wildest imagination; she wanted this, she wanted Crowley.

And he felt her want all around him, in the warmth of her body, in the beating of her heart, in the desperate grasps of him in her hands urging him closer. He would give his soul to Lucifer a million times if it meant he could live in this moment forever, yet it was a dangerous temptation. Crowley withdrew first, making Aziraphale lean forward to chase him before immediately drawing back with a strange look in her eyes.

Only inches away, he stared at her with sad, cautious eyes trying to understand the new expression on his angel’s beautiful face.

“Angel…you understand what we’re doing?” It was a broken question whispered from shaky lips, but he trusted her to know what it meant. “…you know…you know what this could lead to…?”

The angel blinked, and he could admit he had not seen a more certain and confident expression on her face in centuries.

“Yes.”

He couldn’t respond to that, and he meant that literally when the next thing he knew Aziraphale brought her hands up to his chest and shoved _hard_. The mixture of shock and force sent the demon in an unbalanced sprawl across the massive bed behind him, long legs bent over the edge at the knees.

There was not time to recover, no time to think, and he watched on utterly mystified when a flurry of curly hair and crème dress crawled on top of him to straddle two thick thighs around his hips, pinning him down with two hands firmly planted on either side of his head.

A curtain of blond locks shut the world out, and the only thing Crowley could see were two watery raging storms staring back at him.

“Do you?”

 _Yes, but we shouldn’t_. “Yes.”

Aziraphale analyzed every inch of his face for a trace of a lie, and he knew she would find nothing of the sort.

“…do you…do you want this…?”

 _More than anything, but we shouldn’t._ “More than anything.”

The relief on her face was quickly gone, and she leaned down to steal his breath away. Arms splayed across the bed flew up and grabbed her hips tightly, holding her there so nothing could take her away. Their lips moved across each other’s starved and frantic with a hunger spanning over countless millennia. Between gasps and needy moans neither could justify who they belonged to, tongues tentatively brushed across each other tasting what fantasies knew nothing about.

Her curvaceous body began rocking into his with steady rhythms, and he arched up into hers without interruption.

Between gasps, he could hear her whimpered breathy words. “ _Crowley…_ ” his name spoken like that, it was different than the ones in his dreams, and his body reacted like lightning bolts shocking his spine to a pool of heat in his lower belly, blood surging to places because of her that he only ever conjured from imagination. Crowley wanted her; wanted her like he’d never wanted anything before. He needed her.

As if she could read his mind, she breathlessly whimpered again, “ _…I need you,_ ” like a desperate prayer _, “pl-please…I don’t want anyone…to have me like this…only you.”_

It was the demon’s turn to whimper, and it would have sounded pitifully needy if it weren’t for the growl which creeped up at the end. His hands squeezed, fingers kneaded, body rocked harder against hers in admission.

“ _Only you…_.”

“M’here,” he mouthed against her swollen lips, “whatever you need, Angel….”

Adrenaline was a hell of a thing.

His hands released her hips to grip smaller hands in his with fingers intertwined, and in one fluid motion he pushed her up into a sitting position and anchored her weight with both hands, watching the way her full breasts heaved deep breaths against the constraints of her corset peering underneath the torn collar. Dear _Satan,_ he wanted to lap at those creamy mounds with depravity. However, the ripped fabric added a fair amount of clarity to the scene. After everything she’d been through…he would show her what she deserved.

“Angel…” he rumbled low between his own heaving breaths. “…tell me…show me what you want. Anything….” As long as Crowley’s black heart beat strong in his chest, he would never allow her to feel powerless unless she commanded otherwise. Charles took that from her, made her feel more powerless than she already was, tried to control her. Her demon would swear a burning hand on any bible she would _never_ feel like that with him.

The intense look she gave him confirmed she knew what he meant, and it must have done wonderfully wicked things to her body when she suddenly rocked her hips hard against him, stars blinding his vision at the friction of the movement against his hardening cock underneath painfully tight pants.

Control. Power. She wore it like a beautiful halo.

“Remove my clothes.” Aziraphale sighed around a moan which nearly threw him into an early grave. Hands obeyed and released from their entangled hold with hers to slide long nimble fingers up her tummy, across her chest to hook onto her torn collar. He would peel those damn layers off her like a candy wrapper.

“No.” Her tone was stern and froze his movements. Before he could so much as question, she gave him another command.

“Not undress. _Remove them._ ”

Crowley swallowed, and almost choked but nodded quietly instead. Without removing his hands, his fingers snapped, and the fabric underneath his hands disappeared. Fingers splayed and wide palms caught her large warm breasts perfectly as they bounced at the newfound freedom from the corset.

His stunning angel arched her back into his palms with a startled cry that could have been mistaken as a sob from her parted lips, head tilting back and eyes fluttered closed to _feel_ the contact of his skin on hers. If he died then, it would be too bittersweet a loss.

Slit pupils dilated so fast he almost felt it. A low rumble sounded deep in his chest to travel up his throat and into the air between them. Sweet merciful Lucifer, his angel was _gorgeous_. Ancient bath houses, spans of human generations learning modesty had spoiled Crowley with seeing his angel’s pale soft body, and he would be lying if he all but carved those memories against the inside of his eyelids.

But Aziraphale’s female body…it was new, exciting, unexplored territory. And Crowley wanted to claim and conquer every smooth, creamy, thick inch of her body.

The demon’s eyes roamed possessively over her lovely frame like the greedy sinner he was; down her breasts to the chub of her tummy, over voluptuous thighs spread out over him and—he almost choked at how fast he salivated.

Parted thighs unveiled a light dust of small blond curls between her legs. If he could look away, or even spare a _blink_ to look up in silent thanks, he would show gratitude to anything in the universe that had bestowed this heavenly gift to him. The quivering folds of her vulva, pink glistening lips hidden away in a place so intimately private were exposed to his hungry eyes to feast, and his eyes alone. His forked tongue flickered out across dry lips as if on instinct. Distracted as he was then, Crowley did not notice Aziraphale watching his face until the moment he moistened his lips, and her trembling little moans went straight to his cock.

“No words…can’t…too gorgeous for’em.” He panted like a dog. It was a miracle he could collect himself enough to glance back up to her face in awe. “Beyond stunning, my Angel.”

If licking his lips drove her mad, the possessive endearment he just uttered sent her over the edge with a full-body tremble strong enough to throw her arms out to fist into the rumpled fabric over his chest for purchase.

“Crowley…!” She panted just as bad as he did.

“Yes, my Angel? Anything.”

Another bout of trembling threatened to buckle her elbows. Crowley was a bastard; he knew that much. But it was Aziraphale’s fault, the enabler.

“Re-Remove your clothes.”

They were gone with a _snap_ before she could finish her command, and it was Crowley’s turn to tremble at the contact of her bare skin on his with an arch of his long back, head thrown back against the plush comforter, eyes closing at the intensity of it all, mouth open to allow a rough moan from his throat.

For a second he thought the arch of his back almost bucked her off, but she held onto him with the strength of her thighs and blunt fingers digging into his lean abdomen, grinding down against him at just the perfect time; with nothing between their naked bodies, his angel’s moist, perfect pussy slid against cock at just the right angle to drag euphoric mewls from both of them, melding together a beautiful symphony throughout the vast space of the room.

“Lovely…absolutely breathtaking.” Aziraphale whispered as if in a daze, bringing Crowley’s body back to flatten against the bed once more, his eyes opening to see what the angel was going on about only to hitch the breath he tried to take when her heated stare was directed solely on his bare chest. Small hands dragged down his toned belly from his collarbones to his abdomen and back up to repeat, trailing down the expanse of dark red hair on his chest that traveled down to his navel.

No fresh pastry or succulent dessert had ever made his angel look so famished—no, she looked positively _ravenous_.

“My dear,” she cooed sweetly with a voice dipped in honey, “you look delectable enough to ravish.” Those words alone were almost enough to send him over the edge in a searing white abyss, but he held strong. This wasn’t about him—it was, but it was more about her, and Crowley would make damn sure she knew that.

“If that is what my lady commands,” he returned the honey-sweet tone and loved the way she squirmed from it, “my want is for anything you desire of me.” He reached up and stole one of her hands from his chest greedily to plant little kisses across the smoothness of her wrist, lavishing the skin in affectionate nips of his teeth between kisses. Oh, how she squirmed and quivered.

His eyes flashed darkly, and she gasped at his intense stare while never breaking his assault on her wrist and forearm.

“What do you want, Angel?” His tongue flickered out to taste her creamy skin, getting high off her sweet scent overwhelming his senses. The demon powered through with a hoarse whisper, “…tell me what you want, _Aziraphale_.” While she was busy whimpering at the sound of her name spoken so lustfully from his lips, hips continued their punishing rhythm, dragging herself, slick with ecstasy, creating a rapturous friction across his throbbing length. For his sake, he dearly hoped she answered his question soon or he was going to explode.

Perhaps all she needed was a helpful nudge in the right direction. Crowley canted his narrow hips up at a new angle, pushing himself deeper into her dripping divine warmth, teasing her tight opening. The hand that kneaded one full breast squeezed her pert little rosy nipple.

“ _Ahh-ah!_ Crowley— _Crowley~_!” Aziraphale cried out to the space of the room, eyes glazed over in bliss. “I-I- _ahn…_ want you…want you, _Crowley_ …Crowley!” Precious little thing, she was. He had not even entered her yet and she was already babbling his name drunk off elation. The blush on her fair complexion was enticing, and the serpent could not help but admire the way it spread from her cheeks down her neck to the tips of her shoulders to break off and ghost as far down as the meat of her hips.

The impulse was too strong to ignore, and with a strong jerk Crowley welcomed the weight of his flustered angel on top of him, repositioning one arm securely around the dip of her back pinning her to him possessively and the other falling at his side to bring his thumb and index finger to her chin forcing her head up to look at him, lips now inches away.

Now a breath away, Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes and he returned it with a gentle playful smirk. He pulled her chin forward until their lips reunited in a deep kiss, rich and slow and loving. He drank her whimpers thirstily, drowning himself in her essence.

“ _You have me…my sweet little hedonist,_ ” he whispered between breaks, and nipped her bottom lip affectionately. Her sudden startled jump made it apparent she was not expecting him to buck his lean body up into hers, his full cock slick with her juices rubbing between the plump cheeks of her ass in a silent invitation. He continued his drunkenly slow kisses and gentle nibbling at her lips until they were swollen and pouty from his ministrations. “ _…anything you want, Aziraphale…I live for you…._ ”

Her cries were intoxicating. “ _Mmngh…_ Crowley…t-take me…take me now—!”

In one fluid motion of gyrating hips, he slipped the length of his thick cock between her drenched folds and growled headily into her mouth suddenly overwhelmed in a euphoria he could only describe as pure heaven. Inch by inch, he was engulfed in the tight heat of his angel’s body, who broke the kiss to bury her face into the hollow of this throat, and when her cries turned into a perfect blend of pleasurable and painful sobs, he didn’t stop. She would tell him if he needed to stop, had never given her any reason to feel as though she could not. Judging by the way her body responded; pushing her hips down and welcoming him in, she wanted this as much as he did. If he stopped now, she would most likely smite him on the spot.

Her hands fisted into the comforter beneath them like a lifeline, clawing blunt fingernails across the fabric and Crowley could barely hear the sounds so close to his ears over the harmony of bells ringing, soon joined by an orchestra of flutes and cellos and violins and just before it sprang tears from his eyes, Aziraphale launched herself up to a sitting position, sheathing his entire length deep inside her with an arched back and a scandalously high-pitched sigh, large round breasts bounced freely as she writhed on his cock.

A goddess of pure hedonism and lust, she was. No amount of money was worth a portrait of this scene on every wall in his home. He almost hallucinated a halo above her blond head, because the glow of her skin was blinding. Love and adoration and everything kin to poured from her soft naked frame riding him like the fearless little deviant she was. His strong, beautiful, greedy angel.

Crowley clapped each hand behind each side of his angel’s hips and squeezed the top of her sumptuous ass. The hold on her held no ounce of control, and he didn’t have to convince her it purely for a selfish need for contact, an unspoken invitation to move as one with her.

It took a few tries of swiveling hips and wiggling against each other in all the best ways before their flushed bodies found a fluid rhythm, all while never breaking their entrancing gaze. Communication may not have been their strongest suit, but the language they spoke with their eyes remained to this day as one of their most intelligible vernaculars.

“Dearest,” sang Aziraphale from her pleasure cloud above him. She had one arm snug against her soft belly, fingers massaging circles around her left areola, the nipple swollen a vibrant pink under her torturous thumb. Her other hand molesting the hair and sinewy muscles along his stomach around his navel. “ _Ah, ah, ahh~_!” Strong thigh spasms against his hip bones carried a shock through the contact and straight into his spine. Blond hair danced and curled with her thrusts. The tight heat of her wet pussy swallowed his girth so well, like she was made for him, molded just for his body.

“ _Ssso_ good,” Crowley moaned with her, “darling angel…beautiful angel.” The heat was becoming unbearable, coiling hot in the pit of his stomach.

“ _M-My demon_ ,” one particular thrust was angled with a trembling pivot of her hips as she motioned his entire length inside her from tip to base, and it brought stars to Crowley’s eyes. His jaw clacked shut to keep from shouting out in blissful eruption. Her words managed to slip a choked moan from clenched teeth. “ _Crowley…C-Crowley…my serpent, my lo-ah!-vely serpent_! _Make me…make me yours completely….”_

In a fit of ecstasy, Aziraphale reached for one of his hands clutched to her hip and brought it up to her mouth, placing the demon’s thumb to her lips and just as the pad of his thumb met soft lips she opened her mouth to lick a hearty strip up the digit with her velvet tongue. Like a lollipop, she popped it into her mouth until lips sucked at the knuckle. Blunt teeth grazed featherlight against the skin on either side of that lucky thumb—he’d never been jealous of a thumb before—as she pulled it out only to suck it back in with hollowing cheeks. Crowley made a noise similar to a wounded animal.

“Bloody _fuck_ , Aziraphale…,” he hissed low and pained, “k-keep that up, an- _nnnh_ , I’m gonna lose it.”

“Then you’d best hurry!”

Oh, just when the demon thought he’d seen the extent of her debauchery, she one-ups herself and completely claims Crowley’s heart yet again. Just as she emitted that challenge through a breathy moan her thighs spasmed wildly, her breathing growing frenzied, and the force of her building climax clenched her inner walls maddeningly tight around his cock which ripped a barely restrained howl from his fanged mouth.

With demonic speed, Crowley lifted his angel up and flipped them around all while still buried impossibly deep inside her. Aziraphale’s head bounced back against the comforter, and he would not allow her to time to recover from the switch; covering her body with his own, pinning her down, stealing her breath with a searing kiss and dominating her mouth with his split tongue.

His hips snapped after every leisure thrust, pulling out far enough until the head was just slipping out before sheathing all the way back in with forcefully long smooth angled thrusts of his svelte frame.

Red hot coils burned Crowley’s body from the inside out, a pressure in his chest went straight to his groin and tightened around a beatific buildup. He was so close, _so close_ , the thought of spilling into this beautiful, pure angel nearly drove him over the edge.

He jerked his lips from hers and feverishly planted kisses along her soft throat, nuzzling into her smooth skin until he could feel her frantic pulse on the bridge of his nose.

“ _Come for me, Aziraphale._ ” He gasped, feeling her tightening around him as he whispered hot breaths against her pale skin. A devilish hand snaked down to flicker fingers across her clit, and with one final tremble she sang a litany of love and adoration all wrapped into his name over, and over.

A universe exploded into creation behind Crowley’s eyelids, colors bright like blazing suns, swirling clusters of vibrant light like galaxies. It burned, yet he wanted more, and he welcomed the scorching magnitude which coursed through every blood vessel. Fangs pressed against powder delicate skin, but only dared to break flesh, merely trembling as he joined her in the fervency of climax.

“… _dearest_ … _my Crowley…_ ,” her voice, so close yet so far, went in and out of his blurry consciousness. He shuttered the last few thrusts inside her, filling her with his essence and remaining there moments after, buried in her warmth where he belonged, feeling her gentle arms secured around his shoulders like they were his only true home.

Both angel and demon, breathing together in the comforting silence of each other, held on to every twitch, every lazy drag of fingers across wide expanses of flushed skin, lived in each stretching second they had making the most of it with tender nuzzles and loving embraces.

Unlike every umpteenth chance in six thousand years, it seemed time would finally spare them from their assigned roles to have this moment last for what seemed like eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a moment alone <33 ah, makes me hate what's going to happen next...
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed! Thank you all for reading, and let me know what you thought of it!


	16. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I have not replied to anyone's comments in the last chapter! I wanted to get this out as soon as I could. Thank you all for the wonderful comments! I can't wait to go back and read them and respond (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤
> 
> Another interem! For the first time, we find out what Alphaeus is up to, or better yet what he is about to be up to. 
> 
> WARNING: spooky elements~

Whoever said symphonies composed in German were too brutal for a pure portrayal of beauty had no finer taste in music than their taste in wine and therefore did not deserve the subtle pleasantries of life. Though the _whoever_ that said such a thing was unknown, Alphaeus always enjoyed a good hypothetical argument where his point was the preferred one. There was just something about the way words were sung in that passionate dialect amongst the litany of grand instruments made his heart soar in all the best ways.

Like the dancing inferno in the massive fireplace of his study, the music in the air warmed his body to sway along with the violins, his chest rumbling with the cello, the horns a calling to strength and vigor he welcomed like the burn of dark liquor down his throat.

Standing close to the fireplace, Alphaeus rested the side of his hand on the stone mantle, fingers gripping the sweaty glass of his beverage absentmindedly. His tall leaning stature told nothing of his tolerance for alcohol, but merely the captivation of his attention on the roaring flames over the charring logs they engulfed magnificently.

The way fire consumed everything in its path with overwhelming power; a ravenous hunger which knew no bounds was invigorating and watching something raging unbound with wild fervent dancing to a tune of destruction only it could hear was hypnotic.

He watched the fire, and the music from his brass gramophone in the distance created a dazzling performance to the Duke.

If his own story burned like the fire he admired with a symphony he adored trailing after his achievements, it would be a life he could live with no regret.

“I’m bound to my creation,” he whispered dreamily to the flames in one-sided conversation, “…only a minor inconvenience, really.” He smirked as if sharing a secret joke. And it was as though the crackling flames understood and teased back, they flared a brilliant orange when the logs split and cracked exposing the healthy inside unmarred by the intensity of the heat. When that happened, bright hues stretched across solid shapes and magnified shadows.

All but one solid shape, whose shadow was missing.

“Clever,” the Duke gleefully chuckled at the flames like they were his mischievous children and pointed a playfully accusing finger at them, “guilty as charged.”

 _Now, Alphaeus,_ his sweet mother’s gentle chiding still rang in his mind to this day, _do not trust a man who cannot recognize his own shadow…._

The amber eyed man tilted his head in thoughtful consideration; did one recognize their shadow when one no longer had one? He had not thought about it before, maybe because he had not missed it since it left.

_A man who cannot is a man who has lost himself in his path._

What would his mother say about a man who did not have one, he wondered? If she were here today, rest her weary soul, he would be happy to tell her he hadn’t lost his path. Merely…found a more preferred one.

“Your Grace.”

Baritone and gravely, the sudden voice which called out to Alphaeus through the music did not startle him, and he did not turn to acknowledge the new presence in his study and he didn’t feel the need to as he spoke out.

“Bach certainly has a way with music, does he not?” The Duke said mirthfully, eyes still mesmerized by the entrancing flames in front of him. When he was given no response, he was unfazed by it. “Good ol’ Johann.” With one last appreciative smirk, Alphaeus pushed himself off the mantle to straighten and turned away from the dazzling inferno with fluid movement, swaying slightly with purposeful strides in a small dance with his drink toward his solid mahogany desk. On his way, he made sure to circle around the rigid stoic form of his cryptic butler, smiling at the gauntly pale older man gingerly.

Lovely, lovely melodies drifting through the air, serenading him. Ah, the sweet enriching soprano nearly swept him off his feet!

“The Romans loved her, you know. Diana? Worshiped her, rather.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

When the wealthy Duke of the castle finally sauntered his way to his work desk, his hand swept inches across the smooth surface careful not to disturb the documents or tip over his ink and quill. The gas light lamp made his smile deepen. Tiny little flame, burning bright just for him. Obedient little flame. With one flick of his wrist he could snuff it out of existence, and the symbolism in that pulled a somber sigh from his lips. He suddenly whirled around and exclaimed out heartily to the other man.

“And Endymion with that tenor! My goodness! Bach really captured those two perfectly, did he not?”

There was no answer, which was much preferred. He turned back around to his desk.

His wandering hand finally graced the smooth shaft of his latest treasure mounted proudly on its throne perch. An invention he promised its creator would be put to good use, and he swore on his good name he would honor that oath wholeheartedly.

It was not every day one could get their hands on something so powerful, crafted in an age fit for such strength. Fingertips ghosted teasingly over the intricately carved patterns of the silver metal to the hammer with a paternal-like fondness.

Even the Winchesters had not gotten ahold of this precious thing. Not yet, anyway.

“Soon, you lovely thing. Very soon.” He whispered sweet promises, spending a few seconds more admiring it’s beautiful length before finally stepping away toward his butler.

“What brings you here, my good Protz?”

Protz, who stared soullessly ahead with hands locked together at the low of his back, did not move as his Master approached slowly.

“Your Grace,” he croaked through stiff lips, “I am to proceed to the next step.”

“That’s wonderful!” Alphaeus let out a belly-deep laugh and raised his drink up to toast his butler’s comment before helping himself to a hearty sip. “Mm,” he savored the bitterness, “is there anything you need from me?”

“No, Your Grace,” croaked Protz. A pause. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Protz!” Amber eyes widened in exaggerated disbelief, his free hand coming to his chest to clutch his invisible pearls. His gentle smile twisted to a jaunting grin. “It’s not every day you change your mind on something. What has you so thoughtful this evening?”

The older man did not move, not even a blink. The lambent bright orange glow from the fireplace ahead licked across pale sickly olive-green skin gave Protz’s the illusion of expression and helped itself to the blank canvas across his aloof appearance.

“Where does Your Grace prefer me to execute his wishes.” Poor Protz, Alphaeus sympathized; even a question didn’t sound like a question when it was spoken from someone as unemotional as him. But the Duke understood, and that was enough.

“Good question, dear Protz.” The dark liquor swirled within the confines of the glass in earnest musing as he combed fingers through short jet-black hair. That _was_ a good question. He paused as one of his favorite parts of the opera drifted through the air, and he could see the performance in his mind. Pan; wild, old, and powerful. Alphaeus would admit he found himself singing along to that part.

He was in a good mood, and good moods always produced the most creative ideas.

“How about the roof?” The Duke chirped with twinkling eyes. “Yes, the roof! We will have an audience up there! Audiences are nice, an audience of gargoyles.”

Protz grunted low in affirmation.

“You’ve twisted my arm, ol’boy! The roof, it is.” He took another sip of his drink.

“What will Your Grace have me use.”

“Another great question. _Someone_ is in a good mood.” Alphaeus chuckled, and if it wasn’t Protz it was certainly himself. With a lilt in each step, the younger man circled his butler slowly in thought.

“What to use, what to use….” Ropes? No, too rough on delicate skin. Manacles? Oh, no that was worse. But it’s sturdiness could be useful. He’d have Protz keep a pair on him, just in case his projections were off slightly. Brass twine? No, but he was getting close. Ah…cotton twine.

“Too mortal.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. Mortal. “That’s it!” Alphaeus shouted. “Protz, cotton twine lathered in sacrificial ichor. There should be a vial in my cupboard, no need to use your own.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Protz nodded with a ghost of a twitch.

The next sip of liquor somehow tasted better than the last few. Must be all the merriment and anticipation of his approaching itinerary for the night. Meticulously planned down to every minute considered and mapped with the tiniest details. Eggshell white lace and large pearl barrettes, he was still very proud of that one.

Speaking of. He almost forgot.

“Protz,” with three long strides he stood in front of his butler directly in his unblinking line of sight ensuring every word was heard well. Alphaeus unraveled a long finger from around the glass to point at him. “I’ve seen the way you grab at things. You old brute, not a hair out of place. Not one! If I see even a scratch, I will be cross with you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Dead eyes stared through the Duke’s chest.

The stern expression on the dark haired man’s dimpled face morphed to a beaming smirk. “Good man. Better hop to it, you little rascal.”

When Protz didn’t move for a stretched period of time, the music drowned out the infinitesimal sounds of stressed glass, thin spindly cracks creeped up from behind clenched fingers. Small black pupils enlarged with every second that passed, until amber irises disappeared behind a full eclipse.

“ _What?_ ” Alphaeus’ impatient snarl opened his jaw in emphases over the vowel, and the light of the flames gleamed across a top and bottom row of razor teeth before it was gone no sooner than it appeared.

“Your Grace,” the butler croaked slowly, “…what of the Queen’s Hound.”

If Protz were a normal man, he would have jumped in startle at the uproarious scoff from his Master’s throat, but instead watched impassively as his Master threw his head back and guffawed against the brim of the glass.

“Hounds, dear butler, can follow a trail with only a day’s old scent.” The guffaw became hilarious chuckles. Black eyes drifted off to focus on nothing in the room, his lean body turning with it. “He is no Hound.”

Eyelids pulled back with a wide stare, and Alphaeus held the glass forgotten just at the tip of his chin. Thoughts obsessed over what he did not know ran rampant like a scourge in his mind. An enigma, a known unknown. He loved the thrill of the mystery as much as he revered the hunt of solving it.

“Mother always said patience makes the heart strong, Protz. We’ll see with time when the _Hound_ sheds his skin.”

Eyes flashed to Protz quicker than his head could follow, and horns blew from the gramophone in a resounding command, bringing him back to lustrous joy as his body was swept in the powerful call, though despite his gentle careens along with the music he walked past the butler not before stopping directly in front of him, height level just so he could stare into the void nothing behind lifeless eyes.

“How rude of me, Protz. I don’t mean to tease like that. It’s distasteful to talk about hearts when you don’t have one.” He leaned his face forward a little closer to the older man’s and his hand raised up with one long finger pointed toward the sickly gaunt face of his butler. Alphaeus held the position for a few moments longer until finally he booped the tip of his finger against the point of the older man’s hook nose, and whispered with saccharine dipped ruefulness.

“That’s because I ate it.”

With a swivel of a heel, the Duke twirled around Protz to let the symphony enthrall him into rapturous song, arms wide as hands danced in the air like the maestro of his own orchestra.

_“Was mir behagt, ist nur die muntre Jagd!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creepy.
> 
> Lots of references and symbolism for what is to come ahead, as well as heavy foreshadowings. Feel free to comment and let me know if you caught them all or some ;) We'll go back to our dear ineffable lovers next chapter! *btw, for those who were curious to know the song Alphaeus was listening to, see the links below: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/yc_btdk-_d4 
> 
> https://www.bach-cantatas.com/Texts/BWV208-Eng3.htm (english translation of name and lyrics)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have just been so wonderful and have blown me away with such awesome support, and awesome theories and ideas. Also, thank you for letting me reply with sappy over-sharing of my appreciation <33 and please forgive me for what I just posted. ಠ_ಠ
> 
> WARNING: emotional rollercoaster, so hold onto your hearts!

Taking into consideration that the castle was currently spiraling into utter chaos, what with poisoned souls driving people to deranged monsters, frightened trapped inhabitants, a creepy and smug Duke gallivanting unperturbed like it’s a coming-of-century party, and not to mention all the overtime that came with it…life was pretty good.

Maybe all the tingling positive vibes had to do with these mortal bodies releasing sweet, sweet endorphins and serotonin after a mind-blowing shag, or two. Oh, who was Crowley fooling with false modesty? It was four.

Aziraphale tried—hah, _tried_ —to leave the bed after the third round, but fortunately for her he’d recovered from his sex-coma with renewed vitality, and with a flick of his wrist it was as though gravity said _say no more, mate_ with a mischievous wink and pulled the angel’s lush body back to fall over the bed and directly into his lecherous hands. Fussy brat that she was did not put up the fight she claimed was _not_ staged.

Yes, the world was burning around them. And yes, every minute that went by frivolously spent was one more that allowed the fired to rage outside uncontained, but….

Meh. Crowley had waited _thousands_ of years for this. _Thousands._ And he’d be blessed if he was going to let this opportunity slip by. Priorities, and all. Besides, they were smart about it. Crowley considered freezing time, but that meant paperwork and covering tracks. They decided to budget the little time they had. Which was not all bad, it just meant their shaggathon was limited to just an hour.

Never let it be argued what can’t be done in only an hour. And that was not a blow to Crowley’s prowess or stamina, it was just a skillful demonstration of how well he could manage his time. If the seconds chose to slow down a little on their own, and if the past hour consisted of eighty minutes instead of their natural sixty, it was not Crowley’s doing. Even time and space noticed they had pined for each other for millennia.

With a dreamy sigh, the lanky demon laid sprawled across the lavish space of the bed and enjoyed the remnants of his afterglow blissfully, half-lidded serpent eyes watching his naked little bird flutter about the room with a bedsheet dragging behind her, clutched to the front of herself in an attempt to hold onto any modesty she had left. She could be prim and prissy like that, Crowley didn’t mind in the least as long as she left her backside exposed to his appreciative stare.

Her robust hips swayed as she walked, apparently still getting used to the shape of her altered body by the looks of it. And that was fine. His forked tongue rolled across his teeth, asking why it was trapped in his mouth and not feasting on the pale expanse of that round rump currently bent over a table to rummage through his luggage.

“What are you looking for?” Crowley asked smoothly and thoughtfully in a sedated tone.

Aziraphale hummed softly in response, her attention still on the contents of one of the black luggage bags. Judging by the sounds of the items shifting around in her search, it was the bag that held all of his spare spectacles and documents.

He would get his answer as soon as she found what she was looking for, and it only took a minute more before she pulled out a stained manila folder. She held it up in the air triumphantly and turned to Crowley with a smug smile.

“Found it!”

As proud of themselves as one could be, Aziraphale shuffled toward the bed to lean on the edge of the bed closest to Crowley, the mattress bending to accompany her weight as she wiggled up comfortably against the demon’s lean torso, to which the demon took a mile with the inch given and laid a lazy hand over her waist to squeeze one bare juicy thigh.

When the angel spoke next, Crowley made a sarcastic face at how self-satisfied her tone was. “Since _you_ have no interest in reading your task file, I’m helping myself to the information. You can thank me later, dear.” With a wiggle of her shoulders, she opened the file and began reading.

“I know something you can help yourself to.”

“I’m sure, dear.” She hummed absentmindedly, eyes now doing that sharp focused thing they did when she was reading a juicy bit of knowledge. And when her brows did that scrunchy thing, Crowley knew instantly he could say whatever he wanted then and she would automatically drown it out as backdrop noise to her intense research.

“…know a lot of things you can help yourself to.”

Fingers tapped across her thigh with featherlight grace, consumed in the pleasure of being able to do something like this so freely and open like he never could before.

“Y’know, now that we’re past this point, ought’a make it fun….”

So many things they could do now. So many positions, _so many_. And why stop at positions? They were beings who could manipulate their corporations. Perhaps next time Crowley could have a female body and Aziraphale back in his male body. Or both be female? Both male? _Ooooh_ , Crowley shivered. The possibilities!

“…your bookshop is pretty large…move some’a those book stacks around, pretty spacey…,” he watched his fingers dance lackadaisically as ideas spun, “…could chase you around the shop. Yeah, that’s good. You'd be naked, I'd be the libidinous demon running after you….”

“…Crowley….”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to tune the angel out. “…could put those private opera booths to good use. _Yeah_. Need to write these down, where’s that parchment—?”

“ _Crowley._ ”

“Don’t worry, m’not gonna scold it or anything like last t—”

“Crowley!”

“What?” Crowley whined, though before he could continue his thoughts melted when he noticed the pale shade of his angel’s face staring down at him with eyes wide in alarm. The air grew serious out of nowhere, and the demon lifted his top half from the bed to lean on bent wrists and locked elbows. The comforter that barely covered his naked body pooled down to his hips as he scooted closer to his angel.

Aziraphale’s face only grew more alarmed by the second, and it pulled a concerned inquiry from Crowley’s frowning lips. “Angel? What’s wrong?”

Her only answer were slow mechanical movements as she placed the open folder in his lap, blue eyes glowing with something very troubling swirling in her mind and glanced down at the documents with a slow blink.

“Read this.”

Not breaking his stare from the worry lines on his angel’s face, his hands gripped the file and steadied them. He finally took his focus off her face and looked down at the words laid out in front of him.

So much for the endorphin rush keeping him sedated in a wondrous afterglow; reality settled in heavy and dreadful with the oncoming noise of blaring warning horns and bright flares popping off in his head.

Minutes staggered on like eternity as Crowley read over the words again and again hoping to read something different the second or third time. However, with each time it only carried more consternation to their situation. Aziraphale waited quietly with wringing hands into the bedsheet laxly clutched to her chest, fearful eyes switching back and forth from Crowley’s expression to the documents in his lap. She broke first with a cautious whisper.

“Well…that solves our theory about Protz….”

The next reaction in the room was a surprising belch of indignant fury.

“That slimy son of a bitch.” The demon snarled and hissed at the same time, face scrunching up as a multitude of expressions flashed across his thin face from irritation to anger.

“Ugh! _HHHHastur_!” He slammed the palms of his hands on the folder. “Lazy sod! Lying toad!” If fire could burst from his throat it would ignite the bed. Crowley felt a powerful tantrum coming on.

Aziraphale quirked a brow and tilted her head. “What are you on about, dear?”

A fit of unintelligible nonsense grumbled from the demon’s scowl before it transitioned back to English.

“ _Document and report back,”_ he mocked in Hastur’s dumb voice, “oh, that misleading, double-dealing—he tricked me into doing his grunt work!” He wanted to smack that boiled lesioned face and settled for closing the file and throwing it across the bed with a petulant huff, hands rubbing the aggravation from his face, or rubbing it in he wasn’t sure.

It was too late- too late! The tantrum was in full throw with lanky arms flailing and hands fluttering in exaggerated motions.

“He loses one of _his_ goons— _his!_ —and sends _me_ on a wild goose chase to go and collect it, oh that bastard! The nerve! _Our dark Prince is requesting you—_ they didn’t request shit! Beelzebub probably hasn’t a bloody clue, I bet you! This was his mess! What do I look like, a custodian? Mopping up his spill—I am no one’s slack-jockey!”

“Of course not, dear.” Aziraphale conceded sympathetically.

“Exactly!” Crowley folded his arms to his chest. “Not my fault he can’t teach his bumbling underlings how to properly seal a binding contract! For Satan’s sake, soul transactions are the fundamentals of what we do! And tha’ssssomehow my problem? Tch, the nerve of some demons, Angel, I swear.”

“A lot of nerve.” Aziraphale agreed, waiting like a patient mother letting their child get it out of their system.

“ _Exactly_!” Crowley snorted and shook his head. “…what’s worse, he’ll get a commendation for it, too! Tricking another demon to do their dirty work. And there is _nothing_ worse than a smug Hastur—ergh, just thinking of that pompous look on his face makes my skin crawl. ‘Can just hear it now; _unh, should’a pulled yer head outta yer arse, Crawly. Walked right into that one, Crawly._ Sod off. Prick. Twat.” His tantrum had evolved to babbling insults, and Aziraphale needed to stop him before he threw himself into such a bad mood it would stick for days.

“I know, dear. What Hastur did was, well he’s a-a-a real ninny if he thinks he can pull one on you.” Aziraphale tried for a supportive anger to her demon’s plight with a shake of her fists.

Crowley made an anguished face, arms still folded. “… _ninny_ , really?”

The angel shrugged helplessly.

“A real jackass is more like it!” He spat bitterly, though his mood was starting to calm down somewhat so that he just caught the tail end of Aziraphale’s under-breath mumbling. The redhead narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Wot’was that?”

The sly turn of her head with false attention elsewhere and a nonchalant scratch of her neck was not fooling her demon. Her lips puckered in thought. “…well, _youdidsortoferh_ —”

His thin eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

His plump angel sighed, and finally turned back to Crowley with a painfully honest expression and a small shrug. “My dear, don’t take this the wrong way, however…you didn’t read your assignment?” Phrasing it like a question did not help at all.

Crowley stared.

Aziraphale cringed but powered through on sheer technicality. “It’s true, dearest, though you may not like to hear it. Seems a tad…,” judging by her wince he was not going to like what came next, “…careless? To take another demon’s word without reading the fine print.”

Crowley stared.

Aziraphale opened her mouth and when nothing came out after a short while all she could do was shrug for the umpteenth time in a short span. “Hastur is a brute for misleading you, I can strongly agree with you on that! But…,” there was always a but, “this information could—not saying it would—but _could_ have been helpful in the beginning?”

Crowley blinked, pouted, and turned away to deflect the obvious truth. She was right, of course, but it still did not feel good. A few seconds ticked by, and the fussy demon grumbled out a “s’pose so.”

Warm fingers wrapped around his arm just above the bend in his elbow and gently tugged it from his chest and brought his hand to her lap, and with it his head turned to follow the movement, watching her fingers intertwine with his. Crowley stole a glance at Aziraphale and noticed the gentle smile now adorning her flushed face.

She was beautiful when she looked thoughtful.

“I’m glad you didn’t, in a way.” She blinked up and caught his eyes. “Could you imagine if it were Hastur here instead of you? In the state I’m in, goodness knows what he would have done if he caught me.”

The thought was sobering, and equally disturbing, and Crowley did not even want to think about the unspeakably horrible scenarios that notion conjured. He quickly dismissed it, and impulsively lurched his arms forward to wrap around his angel’s half covered middle and pulled her to his chest securely, burying his nose and mouth into her soft blond curls to calm his frayed nerves with her scent. He didn’t have to explain his actions, and that was the wonderful dynamic they had.

He felt her body shake softly with tender chuckles as gentle hands rubbed smoothing circles across his back. “There, there, it’s alright. No need to fret, my sweet demon.”

“M’not sweet.” He grunted into her hair.

“Of course not, darling.”

Their tender moment was short-lived, as when Aziraphale pulled away she gave him a forlorn smile.

“We should really pursue this new information, Crowley. As much as I’d love to lay here longer, the humans need us.”

Crowley returned her forlorn smile with a slow nod in understanding. A quick snap of fingers were heard, and their clothes were back on as smooth and well adorned as if the past few hours had never happened.

And just like that, it was back to business.

-:-

As Aziraphale and Crowley exited the guestroom, their conversation continued into the hallway.

Aziraphale walked out first and turned to wait for Crowley as he shut the door behind him. “I’m going to check on Charlotte and the children and see how they are doing,” she paused and something cognizant made her eyes grow wide, “not really looking forward to their reactions when they find out—” she shook the thought and blinked to Crowley. “What will you do?”

The demon sighed and turned around to face Aziraphale, his posture now straightened and cane loyally at his side, spectacles firmly positioned on the bridge of his nose thinning the channel of their silent communication. “Not a fan of splitting up at the moment, but...just please be careful, Angel. Especially now more than ever, understand?” She nodded with a ghost of a _“yes, dearest,”_ and Crowley continued, “Gonna check on Thaddeus and see how he’s doing. I sort of gave him a lot of work to do—”

“Oh good, glad to hear my name in the discussion. I no longer feel as though I’m intruding.”

Both angel and demon startled with individual yelps, and simultaneously whipped their heads to one end of the hallway to see two very familiar pairs of eyes staring at them; one a sharp hazel-eyed stare behind rectangular spectacles, and the other pair an ocean-blue beaming at them innocently.

“Thaddeus!” Crowley gasped.

“Anthony.” Dr. Copper nodded.

“Miss Fell!” Squealed Maurielle.

“Maurielle?” Aziraphale floundered, breaking the awkward greetings to motion forward with outstretched arms toward the child saddled up next to the man holding her on his hip with one arm.

“Wh-What are you doing here, child?” She looked between the doctor and the girl for answers.

Dr. Copper supplied the explanation simply. “Was on my way up here to get this one,” he nodded to Crowley ignoring the demon’s guilty expression, “and halfway here I caught this one,” he flexed the arm around Maurielle ignoring her similar guilty expression, “following me. So, I figured she might enjoy seeing her heroic nanny. Two birds, one stone, that sort of thing.” He shrugged, as if he had just explained the simple mechanics of a bicycle.

Aziraphale gave the doctor an appreciative smile as she collected the all-too eager child from him and stepped back to nod respectfully.

“Apologies, Dr. Copper. I do greatly appreciate you keeping an eye on her. I do hope she was not too much of a handful.” She turned those sweet puppy eyes on the doctor, breaking the look for just a second to give Maurielle a purse-lipped expression and softly batted the child's tiny fingers to get out of her little mouth.

Crowley, now realizing he was standing there flabbergasted like an open-mouthed fool, cleared his throat and stepped forward until he stood next to Aziraphale with his best unfazed impression, which withered the very instant those calculating hazel eyes turned on him. “Copper, ah, good-good work with the child, yes. Good idea bringing her to her caretaker. Very studious, yes.”

The doctor didn’t even bat an eyelash he was so unfazed.

“How, ah…how did you know where we were?” _Again_ being the word that didn’t need to be spoken.

Copper raised a hand to adjust his spectacles, knowing eyes glancing from Crowley to Aziraphale with a particular gleam the demon was growing more familiar with as he got to know the man over time.

“Wait until you have four teenagers who think they know everything and you’ll find your answer.” Whatever that meant, it sounded reasonable enough.

Aziraphale stepped out of the line of discussion between the two men with a respectful nod. “Excuse us, gentlemen. I need to get this little one back to her mother.” She readjusted Maurielle on her full hip and gave Crowley a lingering gaze. As if she could pick up on his reluctance for her to go anywhere without him in her current state, she caught enough beyond dark lenses and despite them, both angel and demon were able to share a small parting message.

_Please be careful. See you soon?_

_I will be careful. See you soon._

She then turned to give the doctor another thankful smile. “Thank you again, good doctor. And for all your efforts in assisting my,” the infinitesimal pause was just quick enough to be unnoticeable, “friend.”

Thaddeus regarded the angel with a change of expression like flipping a switch; from the hard stare he gave Crowley to a now tenderhearted smile underneath his mustache, hard eyes squinting as the smile reached up to meet them. “It’s been my pleasure, mum. I’ll take him off your hands now. You two be careful on your way back. The path down to the others are being patrolled, so you shouldn’t run into any trouble. Shout if you need anything. We'll finish up here and be on our way down shortly.”

Both Crowley and Dr. Copper watched them leave until they disappeared around the corner. Crowley swallowed noisily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a fidgety gesture. If this was anything like the last time, he needed to mentally prepare for more bad news.

“Well, Thaddeus, what bad omens do you come bearing this—” Crowley turned and paused when he was suddenly presented with the doctor’s outstretched hand, a small rectangular card held between an index and middle finger. “What’s this?”

Thaddeus looked at him expectantly with an assured nod and quick blink referencing the card as if to say _go on, take it._ Crowley slowly plucked the card from the man’s fingers and read it dumbly. It was Copper’s business card.

Oh, right. Crowley slipped it into his vest pocket quietly and made a mental note to go buy a calendar and date the meeting with Thaddeus about something-he had no idea what-in nine months.

“Alright Doc, are you going to let me recover from my déjà vu before telling me the latest horrible—what happened to your hand?” As Thaddeus pulled his hand back, serpent eyes caught the small smears of brown-red dried on scuffed knuckles. The doctor looked confused before glancing at his knuckles with a considerate snort.

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed until now.” A pause. “The blood isn’t mine, by the way.”

“Right.” Crowley would forever remain perplexed by this human.

“Carrying out your orders went smooth enough, save for some unruly hardheads. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Thaddeus wiped his knuckles against his pants.

“Right….” Like he said before; utterly perplexing, this human.

“Speaking of,” Copper raised his head and shifted himself as if inviting Crowley to walk with him. “They’re requesting you in the servant’s quarters where we have the majority gathered. Some of the guests are insisting they speak with you about your Martial Law, and most likely everything else that’s been going on.” He shrugged. “Nothing more I could do about that, so I told them I would go and fetch you. There’s been no new cases or sightings of deranged madmen, so there’s some positive news. Not good enough for them, however.”

Oh, lovely. Scared humans were panicked humans, and panicked humans were emotionally high-strung and always looked for someone to question only to blame if they didn’t get the answer they wanted to hear, and Crowley was _not_ in the mood for that in the least.

One dramatically long and loud sigh later, and the demon grumbled fractiously. “Do I have to?”

Thaddeus nodded somberly. “Afraid so.”

Another dramatically long and loud sigh later, and the demon threw one arm out to reference ahead. “Lead the way.”

-:-

“Maurielle, you know you shouldn’t wonder off like that. You don’t need me to remind you of why, darling.” Aziraphale fussed and worried at the little girl in her arms currently playing with the collar of her dress with fidgety fingers. She didn’t have the heart to scold the child, considering everything they’ve been through over the last couple of days. But after the first time, a repeated occurrence was out of the question.

“Sorry, Miss Fell.” Maurielle just had to say it like that, didn’t she? Meek and sad and chin wobbly, this girl just loved to play at her heartstrings. There was no way Aziraphale could be mad at that.

She gave the child a reassuring little squeeze. “No apologies required, dear. Just be careful. You wouldn’t want to worry your mother, Maurielle, she must be beside herself with worry by now.”

Maurielle’s fidgeting fingers grew more agitated after the angel had said that, which was not a good sign. Her little eyebrows pinched together sadly, and it was heartbreaking to see so much sadness on a face so young. It was hard to make out the child’s mumbles spoken more to the angel’s shoulder than to her. “What was that, darling?”

The girl flinched, almost irritated at having to repeat herself and kept her focus directly at her fingers worrying the fabric of her maid’s collar. “…Mummy went off to find Daddy. We don’t know where he is.”

Aziraphale bit the inside of her cheek and kept her attention on the path in front of them.

Maurielle continued. “Mr. Tuff and Mr. Copper tried to tell her not to, but Mummy was _very_ angry at Daddy for getting lost,” she made an angry face appearing to mimic her mother, “and she did not listen to the men and yelled at them and asked Ms. Houser to watch me and Charlie…,” as Aziraphale listened quietly, the child's next words were almost too sad to ignore.

“…that was a long time ago.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to make of what she just heard and debated whether she was more angry at Charlotte handing off her children to complete strangers, _again_ , or if she was angrier at herself for being the cause of it. She knew she had a plausible reason, but it didn’t make her feel any better about it.

“I’m sure she’s alright, Maurielle. We should hurry on so we can meet her and everyone else.” Aziraphale tried to close the book on this topic, but the child beat her to it with a jolt as if a thought had physically struck her little body. Her face lit up like a firework with a squeak.

“Abby!” She cried out, chubby hands gripping Aziraphale’s collar tightly in small fists. “I forgot about Abby! She’s in me and Charlie’s room, we must go get her!”

“Charlie and _I_ , dear.” The angel couldn’t help herself. “And I’m sure Abby is safe and sound—”

The high-pitched whimper chipped away a piece of the angel’s heart. “Abby doesn’t like being alone, Miss Fell!” She cried as if her maid was supposed to know this about the doll. “She must be so scared!”

Aziraphale had to re-adjust the child on her hip with all the wiggling. “Maurielle, sweetheart, Abby…,” is a doll first and foremost but she didn’t have the heart to be nasty, “Abby may be alone but she’s not—”

“She is, Miss Fell. She’s my best friend, m-my only friend, I know her!” Maurielle’s breathing began to hitch as a glisten of moisture started to appear along her bottom eyelids. And this was not like the well-behaved child Aziraphale grew to know; no meant no, and the children knew that well after a few attempts to persuade without any tantrums of fits. There was something else behind her growing hysteria.

That little chin scrunched and wobbled as Maurielle grew more upset by the second. “It-It’s not fair for Abby to be alone when she’s always there for me when I’m alone! We are best friends, Miss Fell, and best friends do not let each other be alone and scared!”

There was something very kindred in those words that struck Aziraphale’s heart like a hot iron. Out of everything that the child could have said just then, it was the loyalty between best friends and the angel knew all too well about that subject. Anyone else would have scoffed and belittled the child for having such an attachment to a doll, treating the relationship the girl had with it like it was bizarre. But if anyone said that around Aziraphale, she would readily tell them there were far more bizarre friendships out there and that was a fact.

Like an angel and a demon, for example.

All of this toppled with the weight of a young girl’s impossibly large pouty face and puppy-eyed stare, there was no way Aziraphale could win.

A quick glance up in a silent prayer, and the angel finally sighed and gave in because of course she would she was wrapped around these children’s fingers and it was just a few extra minutes off the intended path, no harm done if they veered off for a few haste minutes, grab the damn doll, and be back on track in no time. When put like that, it didn't seem so bad.

“Alright.” She huffed and tried not to let her smile show when Maurielle squealed with joy and hugged her maid’s neck tightly, placing a quick little peck on Aziraphale’s cheek as she wiggled. “But we must be quick! No dawdling!”

“Yes, mum! Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

-:-

Come to find out, the hallway that held the Windsor’s guestrooms weren’t all that far from where they were. Luckily for Aziraphale, they were making better time than she anticipated which was an enormous relief.

Opening the door to Maurielle and Charlie’s room felt like walking into a black abyss. It was a passing thought in the angel’s mind, as she dismissed it as the staff being cautiously mindful of not letting any gas lamps run unsupervised. If all the guests were instructed to stay in the servant’s quarters until it was safe, no need to waste precious fuel or risk a fire breaking out.

She could feel small hands grip her dress tightly when the child noticed how dark it was, and Aziraphale lowered her eyes at the brown head of curls with a calming whisper. “Don’t fret, my dear. The darkness can’t harm you. We just need a little light, that’s all.”

They walked into the room quietly together, letting the door softly shut behind them. Aziraphale soothed the child as she was able to see a little better in the dark with her ethereal eyes, though severely weakened could still adjust to the dark faster than the average human eyesight. She made her way over to the gas lamp hanging from the wall, eventually getting the little flame to burn bright enough for Maurielle to squeak delightfully as she spotted the doll laying on her bed.

“Abby!” the doll was picked up and in the loving embrace of her best friend in no time. Feeling the sensations of love emitting from Maurielle only added to the beautiful reunion being watched by angelic eyes. The scene brought Aziraphale back to old memories of reuniting with her best friend throughout earth’s existence; chance encounters in taverns back in the eleventh century, all the tempting and thwarting each other back in Golgotha, Greece, and Mesopotamia. And there was that one time in the Bastille. Though there was no hugging or embracing of any kind—Lord, how could they?—but the love in her chest was there, hidden and buried deep out of fear and uncertainty but ever present.

All those years, and it was just Crowley and Aziraphale; figuring out this tiny rock in the middle of their divided worlds, learning and growing and adapting their own unique habits and characteristics together. Though far apart at times they always found their way back to each other. If she were completely honest with herself—

Footsteps sounded from the hallway behind the door.

The timed _thud…thud…thud_ of someone approaching wrenched the angel from her thoughts to stare in silent dread, her body going to still as she watched the solid wood like it would suddenly spring to life. If it weren’t for the sounds drawing the attention of Maurielle who perked her head up to look in the same direction quizzically, Aziraphale had hoped it was only her mind playing tricks on her. But she had never been that lucky, sadly.

Had someone been following them? For how long?

When it was confirmed the footsteps were approaching the door, more notably the door to a child's guestroom which was designed _not_ to lock from the inside for safety reasons, Aziraphale acted on the first thing that came to mind.

“Maurielle,” she whispered cautiously low, and the unfamiliar tone grabbed the child’s attention instantly. “Sweetheart…get under the bed.” She didn’t have to see the little girl’s face to know she was looking at her with a mixture of confusion and growing fear.

“…Miss Fe—?”

“Now. Maurielle. Please.” Her command was soft but held no room for argument or further questioning. A small frightened whimper made the angel take her eyes off the door for just a second to see large quivering blue eyes slowly starting to realize the danger of their situation.

Aziraphale, never one to cause anyone to look like that, put all of her energy in making her smile appear genuine and comforting as she whispered soothingly. “It will be alright, my dear. Just stay absolutely quiet and do not come out until it is safe, do I make myself clear?”

Maurielle nodded, expression still frozen in confusion and fear, and with one last look at the door and back to her maid’s face she finally turned and made for the hiding place under her bed.

The footsteps stopped just beyond the door. Aziraphale tensed and watched in growing horror as the handle shifted. She was not sure what to expect when the door was suddenly pushed open, but as soon as it did and the figure appeared in the doorway, the angel finally realized just how dire her situation was.

Frozen where she stood, she met the stoic face and dead-eyed stare of Butler Protz. For a moment neither of them moved, and Aziraphale was not sure which was harder to breathe through: the silence, or the tension.

After another long minute, Aziraphale opened her mouth to speak.

And that’s when Protz lunged.

-:-

_Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave._

Maurielle ran away from the bedroom faster than she ever thought possible, not daring to look back out of sheer terror. Messed brown hair billowed behind her, Abbigail clutched in the death grip of her chubby hand. Tears blinded her vision only to fall from her eyes with the force of her sprints.

Her little chest hurt, and she was not sure if it was because of her heart hammering against her ribs or the way her lungs would not work properly beyond the blinding fear threatening to consume her.

She tripped only once, yet driven so completely by terror she got back up instantly and forced herself forward.

_Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave._

The horrors of what happened in that room chased her. Her nanny's scream as the scary butler attacked her was still fresh in her mind, and she let out a terrified sob at the memory. She remembered only seeing the frantic shuffle of feet from her hiding place under the bed and closed her eyes just in time so she wouldn’t see anymore, almost letting out a scared whine when she heard someone fall to the floor.

It took everything just to keep from crying out, but Miss Fell told her to stay quiet, and so she did with a trembling hand over her mouth.

The horrible sounds disappeared after a while and she waited even longer in the awful silence until opening her tearful eyes, only to realize she was alone in the dim gaslit room.

Miss Fell was in trouble. The scary butler had hurt her and took her somewhere. And she was the only one who knew this.

Maurielle had to get help. She was so scared, but Miss Fell was more important. So, she would run until she found someone who could help, for as long as it took. Her dear nanny had risked her safety to protect Maurielle and Charlie once. Now it was her turn to save Miss Fell. But she could not do it all by herself. She needed help. But Charlie was too small like her, and Mommy and Daddy were nowhere to be found which was nothing new, but it still hurt. She didn’t know anyone else here. Could the nice doctor help?

The sudden memory of a tall, dark, redheaded man flashed across her mind and she cried out at the thought. Of course! Miss Fell’s friend! Mr. Crowley! He was strong, and kind, and brave like her nanny. He would help.

All she needed to do was find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (╥﹏╥) poor Aziraphale. It hurt, but I had to write it for the next parts. Just wait until Crowley finds out what's happened, ooh boy.
> 
> So now we know the mystery, or some, behind Protz. You guys were hot on my trail with guessing Hastur! More discoveries, twists, and creepy turns to come! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long! This chapter was a bit tricky, and I wanted to add more but...I'm a jerk who enjoys cliffhangers >:} And I cannot express this enough; thank you all so so so much for the wonderful reviews and comments. You guys fuel the engine of this story, and make writing it 10x more fun!! 
> 
> WARNINGS: strong language, and heavy mentions of gore and blood (not detailed, but enough to slap a warning on it) and creepiness of course. Angst too!

“Have the local authorities been notified of what is happening?” Cried the portly older judge between gulps of scotch.

“H-How long are we supposed to s-stay here?” Whined the jittery auburn-haired banker. “When can we go home?”

“It’s against our rights to keep us here like this!” Barked the sharp-dressed lawyer. “I’ll take this to court if I need to!”

“And I’ll take that trial on, ‘can guarantee it!” Slurred the now-drunk older judge.

“Have you released the details of the case to the public?!” wailed the wealthy old widow of a construction company.

“Have you checked to see if the roads are safe for travel?” cried someone—a tax collector?—it didn’t even matter anymore who yelled at this point.

“I have a heart condition! I shouldn’t be put through this!”

“Who is going to teach my students if I can’t get back to the University in time for class to start?!”

“I am rightfully outraged!”

“Me too!”

Crowley’s head was spinning.

Like starved vultures, these privileged aristocrats pecked at every waning inch of the serpent’s patience. And it wasn’t that Crowley did not expect to be bombarded by worried humans pacing and stressing like animals locked in a cage, he just did not expect the raging hurricane of questions thrown at him the second he entered the servant’s lounge.

Crowley had literally no time to prepare once the doors shut behind him before he was backed into said doors by frantic bodies shuffling around the room in panicked commotion. Did these people really expect answers when they threw a million questions at him? He may be a demon with otherworldly powers, but dear _Satan_ this was more than even he could handle much less want to.

And these weren’t even a fraction of the guests, as other groups consisting of lower-class society, servants, staff, and children were housed together in the next two rooms over. Hard to imagine that only six people could make so much noise.

Through the numbing tumult of the room, Crowley spared a disgusted glance at Copper leaning quietly on the wall beside him with arms folded. The doctor understood all too well what that look meant and returned it with a slow shake of his head and a murmured, “I know.”

Turning back to the small angry mob, Crowley attempted to address each question in the order in which they were thrown at him with two hands held up to calm them, or give space, or shut them up, or _something,_ anything!

“Alright, alright, listen I understand things have been a bit insane—”

“A _bit_ , he says!” Scoffed the lawyer with an exasperated flap of his arms before locking his hands to his hips and shaking his head.

The blood vessel under Crowley’s left eyelid spasmed, but he ignored it.

“A man was _mauled to death_ last night; I fail to see how that’s just a _bit_ insane!” The lawyer continued his tantrum.

“Malcolm’s right,” the judge piped up with a lazy raise of his glass, expensive arse settled in the aged recliner at maximum capacity.

Crowley opened his mouth then and wondered why he had even bothered.

The wealthy widow spoke up. “And what of the woman John and Marilyn saw on the beach?! They said she was… _naked_ , running around with a dead fish in her mouth!” She threw a hand to her old heart like the mere thought threatened to stop her pulse.

“Yeah, what the hell is up with that?” The shady tax collector clamored from the back of the room.

“The woman has been detained in the cells below,” it was a miracle Crowley got an opportunity to speak, “as everyone else showing similar behaviors. There’s only been three and none since.”

It was not enough, apparently. The guests did not look appeased in the least.

Crowley never depended on coaching his breathing the way he needed to right now, hands at his sides clenched and unclenched to try and ease the growing anxiety in his muscles. They were just frightened humans, he repeated in his head like a mantra, and frightened humans were uncertain and vulnerable. He had to remember to keep his cool; not their fault that sometimes their squishy little mortal brains were not capable of rationalizing hostile situations.

“W-Where’s Duke Gastrell? He should be here. I-I’d feel more comfortable if he were here—!” The snarl that interrupted the banker was surprisingly not Crowley.

“That freak? Christ, he’s probably long gone by now! Hopped in his carriage and hightailed it out of here,” the well-coiffed brunette man in gray suspenders—the college professor no doubt—growled with a pinched snarl on his smoothly shaven face, “like we _all_ should have been a long time ago!”

Crowley stood stiff against the door and listened as an argument almost broke out between the banker and the professor, wishing he had the energy to reach up and massage the throbbing in his temples. He could not help but groan under his deep sigh.

“Lord Crowley,” started a pretentious toned inquiry from the old widow as if she was about to belt out something that _wasn’t asking for too much_ , “when are we going to be able to leave? Surely you have an idea as to when you’ll let us go home?” It wouldn’t have been such an irritating question if the phrasing had not implied _Crowley_ was the reason they were trapped here, as if treacherously flooded roads and danger lurking around every corner were less concerning reasons?

However, it was also a question Crowley did not have a readily available answer for. He turned slightly to refer to Copper’s opinion for genuine reinforcement. “What do you think, Doc?” Unfortunately, it was the wrong move and promptly threw the lawyer into a fit.

With arms flapping, the man all but shouted. “Why are you asking the doctor?! This is _your_ Martial Law. _You’re_ the member of the Queen’s Guard!”

“ _Unofficial_ member.” Snickered the judge.

Crowley was a second away from bolting out of the room before his skin broke out in a mess of scales. Needlessly nasty, these pompous bastards. Not once in the time spent trapped in this room had he heard a sensible proposition or thoughtful idea to their predicament. Not one. But if you asked Crowley how many times he heard a _what about me?_ inquiry, he lost count a while ago.

Similar to how angels were able to pick up traces of love and happiness, demons could do the same with hate and anger. And right now, the room was emitting stronger waves by each passing minute. Considering the type of poison infecting the castle grounds and what it was capable of, the concern of how these two variables could interact with each other twisted Crowley’s stomach into a nauseating knot.

Thaddeus finally spoke up, his voice a saving grace. “He’s referring to my medical expertise, given the information I provided is relevant to the case.” So well spoken. Again, why couldn’t every human be like him?

The lawyer, Malcolm by what the judge called him, retorted immediately. “Don’t answer for him! Psh, some _Queen’s Guard_ you are. He hasn’t answered a single one of our questions!” The loud proclamation erupted a few sound agreements from several others in the room.

The serpent part of Crowley suddenly pondered what a lawyer would taste like. Judging by the amount of hair product and the overpriced clothing, probably very greasy.

No sooner than Crowley decided to retort, he heard the doctor push off the wall to casually stroll forward until he was standing next to the tall demon and if it weren’t for the few inches in height difference they would have been shoulder to shoulder. He stole a side glance from behind dark lenses and was instantly struck dumb by the obvious warning in the man’s posture.

“Careful, Malcolm.” Oh, Crowley had never heard the good doctor speak like _that_ before. “Let’s refrain from loose lipped insults and act like proper gentlemen. We all saw how Gerald’s tantrum ended.” Well, that explained the doctor’s scuffed knuckles. Crowley was awfully glad to have this man on his side. He watched with a barely contained smirk as the lawyer’s eyes widened marginally and stepped back a few nervous paces in surrender.

The underlying threat warded off the lawyer easily enough, however it forced something enraged out of the professor. From the corner closest to Crowley, the vicious shouting caused a multitude of startled reactions; the poor fidgety banker nearly jumped out of his skin, and one more startle would likely cause the old widow to faint.

“Stuffing us in these ratty quarters with no useful answers, and now threatening us with bodily harm!?” He was not a big guy; his bookworm figure certainly nowhere near Charles’ brawn mass, but with the brash flailing of his arms and hostile tone were threatening enough to make Crowley cautious of him as he stomped toward the demon.

A funny thing, thinking of Charles so briefly then when he watched the imprudent actions of the professor. Or it could have been the reddened eyes of the man. Much like how Charles’ had looked.

“Must have a doctor fight your battles, eh?! Worthless cad!” The more he advanced toward Crowley, the more raucous he became. Even the guests noticed with growing alarm.

The portly older judge shifted around in his seat with a troubled expression directed at the other man. When he spoke, he sounded more sober than he had minutes ago. “Steady on, Robert. We’re all upset, but there’s no need to—”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Bill!” In the blink of a startled eye the professor turned on the judge maliciously with a wet roar, spit flying from his curled lips. “Just sit there and drink yourself to death, useless old bastard!”

The old widow fainted.

The judge spluttered in shock, and the lawyer quickly stepped forward to defend him. “Oi! Don’t speak to him like that! This man’s a respectable figure in his—”

“Won’t _fucking_ matter if he’s dead, you git!” Spat the irate aptly named Robert, and Crowley did nothing but observe silently, using the time to become familiar with every exit and mapping out the routes outside in his head. Robert continued his tirade with wild gestures, face flushed a blood angry red. “We’re like sitting ducks here! And it’s all _your_ fault!” The demon didn’t flinch at the rigid finger pointed directly at him, barely quirking a brow which only provoked the man’s rage.

“Gallivanting about the party the other night with the Houser triplets,” honestly, would no one believe they were chasing him?? “The black hearted, devil-for-hire, underground mercenary— _pftt_ ,” Robert spat the words out on the ground considerably close to Crowley’s shoe and advanced toward him from the right threateningly with each word. On his left, he could practically feel Thaddeus tense when it became apparent this college professor was about to lunge for Crowley.

“Professor, that is enough!” Copper’s stern bark fell on deaf ears.

“Good for nothing, you are,” Robert seethed, “too busy trying to bury your head between the legs of that airheaded maid of the Windsor House— _grrgh_!” His tirade was cut short swiftly, and with it all the noise and commotion in the room ceased instantly.

All the attention, save for the fainted widow sprawled over the sofa, watched silently as the gold head of an angry cobra dug deep into Robert’s jugular rendering him frozen where he stood just the distance of the solid cane’s length gripped at the end by a tightly clenched black-gloved fist. The movement was so quick no one had noticed where the cane came from, and it jutted out far enough that Robert needed to lean back on grounded feet unless he wanted to choke.

The professor gulped tightly against the gold cobra, his bloodshot eyes now wide and casted down past his cheeks as if staring at a real cobra ready to strike if he moved an inch.

The only giveaway that Crowley had moved in the entire spectacle was the turn of his head and an elbow bent to hold the cane.

No one could see Crowley’s eyes beneath his blackout shades, and it was almost a shame they couldn’t, because they spoke plenty for what words could not. And for the first time since he’d stepped into the lounge, the demon finally held the attention of everyone with quiet obedience. Good.

“Go on,” Crowley tested with a low hiss, “you were about to do something, right?” With a twitch of his arm the cobra pressed harder into the man’s throat, rotating slightly in a taunting jeer.

Robert looked up from the cane to Crowley’s face. No one said a word, and no one moved.

“Robert, was it?” The question was rhetorical. “Big man, you are. Not intimidated, he says. Go ahead, follow through.” Crowley leaned forward, and as he did his voice adapted a foreboding rumble above a whisper laced with venom dripping more toxicity than the demonic poison seeping through the walls around them.

“I must warn you, Robert; if you even manage to lay one grubby little digit on me, just know,” he was a sucker for dramatics, and switched from a low rumble to a rough snarl through clenched teeth as the cobra head twisted deeper into his throat eliciting a small choke from the man’s bent head, “they’ll have to carry you out in a _body bag_.”

It was one thing to insult him, it was another to backtalk Thaddeus, but to utter a single negative comment about _his_ angel, that would be the final nail in this man’s coffin. And with his nerves already raw and frazzled from these pitiful little aristocrats, he’d gladly hammer that final nail himself.

Another minute passed in complete silence.

Crowley tilted his head to appear thoughtful. “…are we in agreements?”

Robert was having trouble nodding around the blunt end of the cane. Now feeling a sense of mercy, Crowley assisted him by moving the cane up and down, drawing long nods from the man’s well-coiffed head.

“Good.” The demon finally relented but before he removed the cane, he turned his head to direct his attention at the frozen onlookers.

“That goes for the rest of you selfish little peons. I’ve been tolerant thus far and listened to your pathetic whining. The next sniveling coward who thinks themself brave enough to test my last thread of patience,” Crowley turned his head across the room to let them know his eyes scanned every face, “will wish it was the good doctor that got ahold of you instead of _me_.”

He paused, letting the words settle in and sit well in their minds before finishing with a haste, “…are we all in agreements?”

The judge, the lawyer, the banker, the tax collector, even the professor, all save for the widow, nodded in unison. Now having everyone’s full attention, Crowley decided at the last second to have a little fun. The warning had calmed his temper back to neutral, but they did not have to know that.

“Does anyone want to add to the professor’s concerns? Questions? Seeing as how you are all alive, I’d say our efforts to keep you safe are working well enough. Does anyone have any objections to this? I’m all ears.”

All heads shook in unison.

Thaddeus huffed good naturedly next to him. “I’d say that’s a no.” If Crowley had not known the man, he would not have caught the underlying impressed lilt in his voice. Points for Crowley.

Someone eventually did object, seemingly without knowing. That someone had not been in the room prior, and chose at that time to enter the lounge not from the locked door which led to the other guests, not from the door behind Crowley, but from the third door unguarded and unlocked from the opposite direction with slow sluggish movement. The lock jumping over the frame and the groaning hinges were the first sound which attracted everyone’s attention.

In stumbled the trembling frame of Charlotte Windsor. At the sight of her appearance, eruptions of curses and gasps flooded the room.

Bloodshot unfocused blue eyes stared into the room as though she were not certain where she was or how she had gotten there. Her usually styled chestnut brown hair looked torn from her neat bun and stuck out in several directions, matted locks hanging over her ashen face and dangling down slack shoulders.

Yet the most alarming part of her appearance was the rumpled teal colored evening dress adorning her thin frame. It was hard to tell the color to be honest, given how soaked in blood she was. Splattered blotches stained bright against the pale complexion of her exposed skin and seeped dark and heavy into the fabric of her clothing.

In the ethereal plain only Crowley could see, black miasma oozed from her body in thick plumes and permeated into the room from the open doorway like vines sprouting along the aged tapestry walls.

By the time the demon realized how horrible their situation was, it was much too late.

“Charlotte!” Cried Malcolm. Not waiting a second to rationalize what was he seeing dashed forward past the horrified tax collector and stunned banker to grab Charlotte’s shoulders, steadying her with a look better suited on a concerned husband. The odd sentiment was lost on the horror of the scene.

“Charlotte, my dear! Dear God, what’s happened to you?” Malcolm tried to follow her lost wandering gaze, giving her shoulders a gentle shake to snap her out of it.

“ _Merciful Christ_ ….” Prayed the banker.

The old widow woke up from her faint, gazed around the room disoriented, took one look at Charlotte and fainted again.

“The girl’s in shock!” Thundered the judge while struggling to get out of the recliner. “Doctor, help her!”

“Right.” Only momentarily stunned, Thaddeus recovered quickly and made a move forward only to be pulled back by an unyielding grip around his bicep. The doctor whipped his dirty blond head back in surprise to stare at the hand around his arm then up to Crowley’s face. At first the physician opened his mouth to question but stopped himself when he saw the demon’s expression, narrowing his eyes at the distant way Crowley shook his head.

It was when Copper finally realized with a sharp inhale that Crowley finally snapped out of his thoughts and questioned why he was still standing there.

The demon lurched forward with a shout. “ _Get away from her!_ ”

An unfortunate fool of a man this Malcolm was. He turned his attention away from Charlotte still clutched close to him to give Crowley an appalled sneer. “What?! Can’t you see she—!”

Charlotte finally focused her bloodshot eyes on Malcolm. Thin bloody hands lurched forward and grabbed the lawyer by his shoulders. She opened her mouth as wide as humanly possible and sunk blunt teeth into expanse of his throat.

Fearful shouts echoed from all directions and bodies moved in a blur. The banker flew from his chair to topple over the coffee table in a blind fright. The tax collector rushed forward to try and shake Charlotte off Malcolm, who buckled at the force of the attack in screaming agony.

Murky black mist flooded the air like the billowing smoke of a raging fire. Crowley had never seen anything quite like what this was, not in the thousands of years of his existence serving the nine realms of Hell. It was almost frightening. The message it brought to them was clear; there was nothing that could be done to save these people.

Just as Charlotte ripped her head back with a bloody mouthful of the lawyer's throat, a high-pitched shriek was the only warning given before she whirled on the tax collector with a broken-nail strike to his face, throwing her weight against his unbalanced footing and sending them toppling to the floor.

“We need to go.” Crowley muttered, and immediately asked himself why he was moving backward instead of his intended forward, and sorely wished he didn’t find his answer when he turned to see the mindless rage contorting Robert’s face, a bulging bloodshot stare too dangerously close to yellow irises was the last thing Crowley saw before the professor opened his mouth wide and lunged.

-:-

_"~Lebe, Sonne dieser Erden~"_

_"~Weil Diana bei der Nacht~"_

Words and melodies dancing colorful wisps in the depths of Aziraphale’s consciousness drew her back to the surface of bleary awareness. A gramophone somewhere nearby blared against the surrounding rumble above her, as though locked into a battle of baritone strength.

The smell of warm moisture in the air warned of an approaching storm, and the angel just barely came to the notion that she was outside somewhere. Growing alarm lifted her slumped head from her forearms slowly to make sense of everything.

Dark clouds covered the evening sky an ominous charcoal gray, which globed stone edges where solid gargoyles perched ever vigilant. She was on the roof.

_"~An der Burg des Himmels wacht~"  
  
"~Weil die Wälder grünen werden~"_

On the roof with a gramophone belting opera across gusty winds. Her eyes lowered and was not sure if the slick-wet cotton twine knotted around her wrists or the well prepared dinner table she had been using as a pillow had finally hurdled her mind through the fog to an awful clarity and she sat up until the back of a chair caught her shoulders.

Disgust scrunched Aziraphale’s troubled expression when she weakly lifted her bound wrists wondering what in God’s name was this black fluid drenching the material? The angel gave an experimental tug at the cloth, and the burning agony of her essence under unblemished mortal flesh nearly sent her back to the surface of the white tablecloth, a hoarse cry stuck in her throat.

Best not make a habit of that.

Aziraphale could never remember a time when her head felt so heavy, or when her neck felt so flimsy, but in her attempt to sit back up she caught a fluttering cloak in her left peripheral.

If she were dreaming right now, it would have suited the scene perfectly. In fact, if she were to wake up now perhaps she would be surrounded in the warm embrace of her slumbering demon. She’d have to wake him up for this one just to share a rich laugh at the imagery of Alphaeus Gastrell dancing by himself on the roof of his castle under a building storm to Bach’s Hunting Cantata.

Sadly, this was not a dream she would wake laughing to, and even worse it was not a dream at all.

A cleared throat to her right turned her dazedly in the opposite direction of the dancing Duke, watching two men watching Alphaeus; one with a void stoic stare, and the other quivering with fear.

Butler Protz stood no more still than the gargoyles nearby, shoulders stiff and arms pulled behind him with locked hands.

And to his right stood the trembling roundness and sweaty cherry red face of the groundskeeper, Willard Tuff. Dressed in a waiter tuxedo two sizes too small it looked forced on his big body. Thick arms extended over the bulge of his belly wrung nervous hands against his chest.

_"~Fürst Christian weide~"_   
  
_"~Auf lieblichsten Rosen, befreiet vom Leide!~"_

_“Mr. Tuff…,”_ Aziraphale whispered under the veil of the blaring duet. The man did not seem to notice. The angel tried again with more urgency. “… _Mr. Tuff....,”_ she almost startled when his eyes met hers so suddenly. It should have been relieving.

“ _…please untie me,”_ Aziraphale was not sure why she thought this would work and considered it a habit stemmed from how easy it was to bend consciousness with heavenly manipulation. Without that, she sounded like a scared human woman.

The groundskeeper gazed at her with a sorrowful stare and his lips trembled as if he wanted to say something and knew the repercussions if he did. She could see it in the nervous glance he threw over her head to his employer.

_“Please, Mr. Tuff…help me.”_

_“…forgive me, mum.”_ When he broke their stare to glance down at his hands, it became clear this man would do nothing.

Lost but not defeated, Aziraphale pulled back to stare at the table in front of her and used the white canvas of the cloth to lay out her plans of escaping. She placed her bound wrists on the table—

And immediately noticed her once bare arms were sleeved in intricately patterned off-white lace. The more she looked at herself, the more expensive lace she could see covering her plush body hugging every curve to drape conservatively above her ankles. Her feet were bare, and the sight brought forth a very vulnerable feeling soon joined by a gut-wrenching nausea.

Eyes wide with trepidation, Aziraphale reached trembling hands up to confirm a terrible truth as fingers fluttered around her blond hair styled expertly in a half-braided bun pinned by barrettes made of smooth pearls.

“Ah! She stirs from gentle rest; such sweet tepid eyes do flutter softly open!”

Aziraphale froze. Counting the seconds to calm her erratic breathing, the angel dared a secret glance to her left.

Alphaeus, dressed extravagantly in an evening suit of black and dark gray lined in a deep red velvet trim complimented the exorbitance of her outfit in a way that spread chills down her spine. His smile as large as it was genuine reached his amber eyes glowing like kindling embers.

“Wonderful timing, my angelic dove!” The Duke bellowed joyously from above the howling winds, over the rumbling thunder, piercing through Bach’s composition and straight at Aziraphale.

Before her eyes, Alphaeus’ smile stretched into a gleeful grin brimming with razor sharp teeth.

“Shall we dine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⊙.☉ uh oh, seems our angel and demon are both dealing with their own share of problems. Also, the translations of the song lyrics in the chapter can be found below~
> 
> Live, sun of this earth,  
> while Diana in the night
> 
> keeps watch on the fortress of heaven,  
> while the forests grow green,
> 
> May Prince Christian feast on  
> the loveliest roses, freed from sorrow.
> 
> English translation here: https://www.bach-cantatas.com/Texts/BWV208-Eng3.htm
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! Thanks again for reading!


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been so busy this week, I haven't had a chance to reply to your comments from last chapter! Thank you all so much for the awesome feedback! I figured a quick plot heavy chapter would show my appreciation (っ◕‿◕)っ ♥ Also, not sure what I was thinking when I thought this part could be written in one chapter, so it's going to be broken up in a few to build up what's to come next! Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: creepy/spooky elements, psycho-babble, angst!

As much as Aziraphale wanted to gulp down the glass of wine poured for her as soon as Alphaeus sat down across the table, she thought it best not to. And as much as she wanted to rip the bottle from the butler’s boney hands and down the entire thing, she sadly thought it best not to either.

Which was a shame, really. Given any other occasion with any other company more preferred, it did look like a fine age not to mention an appealing label. Her frazzled nerves would just have to find another way to calm themselves. Instead, she remained frozen where she sat and fixed the eccentric Duke with a hard stare. Her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her showed bound wrists which served as a silent reminder to Alphaeus currently carrying on as if he were joining a late reservation with modest etiquette.

Unfortunately for her, he carried on unfazed with a darling dimpled smile. It was best if he kept it close-lipped. She certainly did not want to be reminded of the teeth hiding behind them.

“I do hope the scenery is to your liking, dear.” Alphaeus attempted another conversation starter, and just like the last one did not wait for her to reciprocate before prattling on excitedly. “I find high places an exhilarating theme for occasions like this.” Did he now? She would not have guessed. He adjusted his cufflinks anxiously.

“Forgive me if I seem a tad nervous,” he chuckled and the high-pitch tone confirmed he was not lying, “it’s not everyday one shares company with someone so lovely…and ethereal such as yourself.” He grinned this time, and Aziraphale almost flinched back before she saw blunt edges of normal human teeth. The ethereal comment did not go forgotten.

“…h-hardly noticed.” Aziraphale tried for a smile of her own, but it was a poor attempt at one.

“Good!” Alphaeus chirped, sweeping his hand to his own wine glass for an appreciative sip.

The silence stretched on for an awkward period. The angel kept her eyes trained on the man in front of her, watching his face twist in delight of the wine.

“Mm,” he pulled the glass away from his lips with a satisfied hum and set it back down, “I’m not sure about you but I’m famished!” He leaned back against the chair and gave her an appreciative wink. “I took the liberty of ordering for the both of us. Hope you don’t mind. I’m positive you will enjoy what I picked out for you.”

Something about the way he said that settled uncomfortably in her stomach.

Aziraphale tried for another small smile, it too failing to appear genuine. “I’m sure I will.” If the comment appeared sarcastic, she did not put much effort in hiding it.

This time Alphaeus returned her hard stare with one of his own, focus intense and smile stuck awkwardly. Gloved fingers caressed the length of his wine glass absentmindedly and he observed her appearance from facial expression and down. It made the angel cringe and wonder just which part of her he was admiring, and Aziraphale had a good idea it was nothing perverse like Charles unless he had a thing for angelic essences.

After a beat of silence, Alphaeus spoke. “I’m not so daft that I can’t see you must have quite a few questions for me.”

No, really? Aziraphale offered a small shrug of one shoulder as his answer. He chuckled and motioned a wave with his hands encouragingly. “Well, by all means. If it gives me a chance to listen to your lovely voice, I’m all ears.”

How charming. Aziraphale silently debated if it was a baited offer or a harmless play for conversation. Either way, it gave her center stage.

The angel blinked slowly, opened her mouth, and hesitated a few seconds before starting. “I-I’m not sure where to begin, really.” Her eyes knew, however. Glancing down at the soaked cotton twine knotted around her wrists, then to glare at the butler standing rigid a few feet to her left, and finally back to Alphaeus with the same glare.

The reference needed no introduction, as Alphaeus watched the entire time and finally it appeared to dawn on him with a jerk. “Oh! Oh, yes. Well,” the nervous chuckle was back, “apologies, dove. You see, I’m on a tight schedule this evening. Plenty activities planned, and I assumed the invitation would take a bit longer to be accepted. So, I had to make accommodations in places to make up for any lost time. You know how it is.”

“By abducting me.”

Alphaeus looked to the side in thought of her words, searching for their understanding somewhere in the distance. “I will not argue with you, that is _exactly_ what I did.” And with a quick glance back to her and a wink, he smiled in that smarmy way one does when saying something they consider to be cute despite its blatant audacity, or otherwise known as Gabriel’s trademark.

“Boys too shy for sentiment often pick on a girl they fancy.” The Duke shrugged as if what he did was harmless. “I’d consider this similar to that in nature.”

This man was unbelievable. And very unstable.

To add solidarity to that passing thought, Alphaeus suddenly slammed his open palms forcefully on the table and effectively knocked over the wine glasses and startled both Aziraphale and Mr. Tuff nearly into cardiac arrest.

The angel had been staring at the man’s face the entire time, so when his expression turned from playful to irate was completely lost on her. He whirled his head to the side and snarled at the trembling groundskeeper, his lip twitching up and suddenly the sharp teeth were back.

“ _Willard_ ,” he growled, “where is the silverware?” Aziraphale blinked, caught utterly surprised by the most frivolous question she’d heard out of this man yet.

Mr. Tuff answered with a painfully long stutter.

“ _Willard_ ,” Alphaeus said his name again and this time with a low and long stretch in warning, “how are we supposed to dine if we don’t have _silverware_?”

“M-M-My apologies, Your G-Grace,” Aziraphale almost felt sorry for the groundskeeper, “I-I-I was so sure…,” it took one look from The Duke to lodge the big man’s next words in his throat and instead sputtered out a, “I-I-I will go—!”

“Go. Get. Them. Willard.” Alphaeus minced each word through grinding teeth.

“—yes, yes, yes I will go-go now. Yes!” Willard tripped over himself in his haste exit, leaving a suffocating tension behind, and somehow Aziraphale felt more alone than she ever had. Now it was just her, Alphaeus, and Protz.

 _Give me strength_ , the angel prayed to herself. _Let me see this through._ She had learned something earlier about praying for strength; and admittedly The Almighty was not who she prayed to now, but rather her serpent-eyed demon.

Alphaeus changed expression like one changed their outfit in an indecisive fit. From playful to irate, from irate to somber, all in such a short amount of time spoke in volumes of what could only be going on in his mind. A gentle tut of his tongue melted the snarl into a disappointed frown.

“Mother would be cross if she saw me act this way.” He shook his head, straightening himself right as he did so, and casted regretful amber eyes at his abducted dinner guest. “Forgive me, that was rude. Willard means well, he’s just simple minded. As for me, there’s no excuse for my behavior. These,” he waved his hands in the air trying to catch the best words, “emotional highs and lows, all this flowing energy at once, can all be very hard to control. Comes with time, it seems.”

Whatever the hell that meant, Aziraphale had a bad feeling she was about to soon find out. The Duke noticed the shattered wine glasses glistening in the dark red splatters across the ground. As he sat back, a flick of his wrist collected the shards and mended them back to perfection, the wine pulling up from the ground to trickle back into the glass while they floated to the table.

Aziraphale had watched similar spectacles what could now be a million times in her long existence, and she could easily recount each of those times being either her or Crowley’s doing.

Troubled blue eyes switched between the wine glass perched in Alphaeus’ grip to him staring at her intently.

“…I have another question.”

The Duke nearly choked on the sip he took and set the glass down quickly to give her his undivided attention. His eyes sparkled, hand sweeping out between them. “Fire away!”

Aziraphale cleared her throat. “How you are able to…to do that,” she nodded quietly toward the wine glasses, “…is that because of him?” She then nodded to the side knowing well Protz was still standing in the same spot.

The question, as calmly as the angel had proposed it, was received with equal calmness. Alphaeus leaned forward until he propped an elbow on the table to support the weight of his head with a bent palm fastened under his jaw, and quickly glanced to Protz before looking back at her.

“Mm,” he swirled the answer in his mouth, tasting it first. “Protz? Well…yes, and no.”

The angel waited quietly.

“Dearest Protz. You know, he’s grown on me.” Alphaeus nodded into his palm. “He doesn’t talk back, he does what he’s told. Honestly, you can’t get any better than that. It took some breaking, at first….” The more she heard, the worse she wanted to recoil. “…like night and day who he is now from when we first met,” his eyes glazed over, watching a memory only he could see, “…I’ll be honest, not at all what I expected when he _popped_ up in the middle of that pentagram. I was expecting…I don’t know, something like those pictures in the bible!” The baritone chuckle caused Aziraphale to bolt back.

“You know!” Alphaeus’ laughter was nearing an exasperated fit. “Of course, _you_ know; the horns, the hooves, part goat part man part—you get it. Not _him_. I mean look at him!” Alphaeus threw a hand outward in emphasis at the unfazed, unblinking butler. The Duke sulked. “A toad.”

A pause, and he sat back against the creaking chair. “Eat their heart, and this is what you get. But…he’s the first, you know? That’s special. And that’s why he became my butler!”

Aziraphale was exceedingly more tempted to down both their glasses of wine when she found she was having trouble processing the extent of those words. A gentle exhale from her nose calmed her racing heart.

“You…you ate his heart….?”

“Oh, yes!” He chirped happily. “I was quick, too. He didn’t see it coming! Hah! I mean, really, I got lucky with this one. You don’t have to be a demon to see this guy was bad at his job. You’d think,” he scrunched his elegant black brows in mock pity, “purchasing a soul from a human would be easy, but he struggled. I almost had to coach him!” Oh, Hastur. Aziraphale barely knew the Duke of Hell, only stories from what Crowley had told her, but this was just sad managerial skills.

Crowley called that one, though.

Alphaeus paused, and it was a second before the angel noticed. When she drew her attention back to his face, his stare was casted down into the wine glass tipping at his lips for another sip. Just before he drew in he muttered something she almost did not catch.

“ _…_ Protz _…and theirs._ ” He tipped his head back, and as he did he flickered amber irises to areas behind Aziraphale which was so puzzling she could not help but turn around to see what the _them_ were. Just as she expected, there was no one around; just the three of them on this giant rooftop surrounded by thunderous clouds and stone gargoyles—

_Oh God._

Aziraphale, utterly repulsed by her revelation, turned back around with a haunted stare at the table. It was a long time before she could make her mouth move again. Alphaeus quietly stared at her reaction, a fascination which intensified his gaze. At least someone here thought it was amusing to see an angel revolt in terror.

“…those…,” she forced out through wheezed breaths, “…those aren’t…oh dear....”

“Might as well be.” A half-hearted shrug accompanied the bored tone. “Demons look strikingly akin to gargoyles when they're screaming in agony while being encased in solid stone after having their organs ripped out. A grizzly way to go, but I got free home decor out of it.”

Aziraphale almost fell forward as her vision clouded. All she could think about were the horrifying images of those demon’s last moments in pure agony. One would think an angel would be elated to know their mortal enemies suffered so brutally. But Aziraphale never considered herself like her siblings, not when her best friend, her lover, her everything, was one of them. She immediately shook the horror from her consciousness before it could reshape those unspeakable visions into showing her what could happen to _her_ demon if this man—no, he was no man. Not anymore. He was a monster.

She steeled her expression and glanced up only to be pierced with a scrupulous stare. Her reaction must have been that obvious.

“See,” Alphaeus placed the glass back on the table, “this is why I’m so fascinated by you.” Oh no, here it comes. “For a being of your...,” he fluttered hands toward her person, “…divinity? I’m new at this, bear with me, love—I didn’t think your kind would look even remotely fazed by that. But you…you seem so….”

Aziraphale winced, bracing for it.

“…caring.”

Of all the words she waited for, that was not it.

“Pardon?” She whispered.

“Caring!” He belted happily, and she got it that time. Almost throwing himself out of the chair as hard as he moved forward, Alphaeus buzzed with energy. “So genuinely so. You must be quite a unique breed of your kind.” That was an understatement. “The way you find joy and love in everything. Fudge! Children! Running around dotting after those overpriced clowns for employers. Awful people, all of them! Every _single_ one of them!” His voice picked up volume at every word, growing angrier.

“Scum. Scourge of this planet, those…wealthy hogs.” It was obvious this was no longer about Aziraphale. She had never seen him this breathlessly enraged and could not help the small frightful yelp when his irises disappeared behind the swell of his black pupils, sharp teeth elongating irregularly as his tirade became vicious barks.

“Privileged worms,” he was all out seething now, “walking around like they own this world, like they _deserve_ every pound in their greedy pockets! Taking _EVERYTHING_ for themselves!” No longer seething, Alphaeus was raging.

Black veins spider-crawled across his ebony pale skin and throbbed with inhuman blood coursing through their channels. His shoulders heaved with each bellowed roar.

“They take _EVERYTHING_! Food from poor mouths! Money from impoverished families!” He sailed a clenched fist into the wood of the table, and it was a miracle the force of his strength only caved the area it landed on instead of decimating the entire thing.

“ _They took my MOTHER from me!”_

Aziraphale stared, too frightened to move, too horrified to speak, and as Alphaeus heaved pained breaths the picture it painted in front of her eyes became blurry and distorted. Before she had time to consider why, hot tears spilled down her flushed cheeks.

Never had a monster looked so utterly broken and vulnerable like this one did right now. And for only a fleeting second, the angel thought she was staring at a grieving little boy missing his mother.

Everything in the last forty-eight hours all seemed to fit into place, or at least most of the enigma that revolved around this castle made more sense now than it ever had.

Alphaeus finally calmed down after a period of frantic breaths. The angel watched the foundation of this mixed-bred being tremble under the weight of bitter memories. He lifted one hand to smooth back loose locks of hair, swallowing more of the rage down to a coherent state.

When he was finally able to talk, it didn’t sound like the deranged bravado he displayed prior.

“…she worked like a dog for so many years,” he shook his head quietly as teeth shrunk and pupils retracted slowly, “for…for barely enough to scrape a single meal together.”

“And did she complain? Never. Always a smile, never a negative word or ill-wish. Mother was a saint among saints.” By the end of his lament, he sounded miserable and deflated. “She didn’t deserve to die like a crippled sinner.”

Alphaeus waited another second longer, and suddenly the somber mood was gone in a flash. Aziraphale couldn’t keep up with him, didn’t have time to dry her eyes before he was now looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and fascination. Then, to the angel’s dismay, Alphaeus smiled lovingly at her. Whatever he saw in her expression, she would only assume the rose-tinted glasses distorting his perception of reality represented it in a way she was not prepared for.

“Sweet little dove, shedding tears for my loss. Mother would have loved you.” He paused, looking her up and down with enough affection to make her physically sick. His head tilted a bit in afterthought. “She would have loved the way you look in her best dress.”

It took all of Aziraphale’s withered divine energy not to vomit at that. The human this monster used to be had lost his mind an awfully long time ago, the last shred of sanity buried with his mother.

“Nothing like a good conniption fit to bring on the appetite!” A loud clap startled the restrained angel out of her nausea. Alphaeus rubbed his hands together greedily.

“I think it’s time for dinner, don’t you? And I have the most perfect dinner topic for us! A charming proposition I think you’re going to like!”

-:-

It was the shouting and loud banging which drew Maurielle’s attention toward the wing of the castle where the servant’s stayed. Luckily, it was the same place where her Mommy had left her and Charlie with the others to search for Daddy.

It felt like forever and a day since she ran from that horrid room, plagued by her nanny’s screams. She had gotten lost several times, circled the same areas too many times to count until she followed the sounds of people which led her to the more familiar halls of the servants quarters.

The noises grew in volume, and Maurielle rushed forward with her last remaining ounce of energy to round the corner in hopes to see an entryway to the next room. Mr. Crowley, she kept reminding herself, Mr. Crowley could be in there! And he would help, of course he would! He liked Miss Fell a lot, she could tell. And Miss Fell liked him too. He would rescue her from the evil butler!

As she turned the corner, she saw the door as vivid as she imagined it to be. What she did not imagine, however, was someone standing in the hallway acting as if they had forgotten how a door worked. Bumping their body into the wood frame was not a proper way to use—

Maurielle slowed her run to a halt before she could get too close and could tell something was very wrong with this person. They were dressed like one of the chefs she saw in the kitchen when her and Charlie snuck in to swipe pastries for Miss Fell. And this man may have looked like a chef, but the sluggish way he moved reminded her of the terrifying man crawling around on the floor.

The mere thought of that night petrified her so much so she lost the will to move her tired legs as the chef caught sight of her with a similar hungry gaze the crazy man had then.

A groan quickly morphed into a growl as the chef peeled lips back to show his teeth threateningly. Maurielle tried to step back and tripped over shaking legs to fall back on her bottom.

Just as the chef motioned to lunge, the door he was bumping into earlier was thrown open, hitting the man hard and hurled him to the opposite wall. When his back hit the hallway table just right, he collapsed on the ground in a heap. Luckily, the big expensive vase perched above swiveled erratically, but did not fall.

“Fuckin’ Hell!” Out of the other room sprinted a tall, black, long legged blur followed by another figure slightly shorter. Like noodles they struggled for balance in their attempt to flee the shouts and banging behind them.

“Close the door!” Barked the shorter man with glasses.

“I am!” Squawked the taller man clad in black.

“Lock the damn thing!”

“ _I am!_ ”

The door slammed shut and both men stumbled back against the solid frame with panicked huffs, shaking a little at the loud _thump_ of something being thrown against the other side.

Maurielle, mouth wide open in awe, mustered out the smallest squeak through quivering lips as she realized who these two men were. The sound drew their attention with shocked faces.

“The Windsor girl!” gasped the doctor.

“Maurielle?!” Mr. Crowley called out, and no sooner than he did the child found herself crying out.

“Mr. Crowley!”

The chef gurgled out a low whine. Both Mr. Copper and Mr. Crowley turned to face him.

It all happened so fast; her huge eyes were not able to keep up. Mr. Crowley snarled out a few nasty curse words that she was _never_ allowed to say unless she wanted a hard spanking, kicked his foot into the chef’s chest, lurched forward, grabbed the vase, flipped it upside down, and stuffed the man’s head inside without breaking it.

“Good show.” Mr. Copper mumbled and removed his glasses to wipe them on his sleeve, squinting at the sight of the chef tumbling to the floor.

Maurielle had never been so happy to see someone, more than her own parents even, when she saw Mr. Crowley rush to her with open arms. _It’s okay to be scared_ , she remembered Miss Fell telling them that night while comforting her and her brother.

Arms collected her from the floor, and in a daze felt her tired little body be lifted into a strong embrace. The last shred of bravery left her expelling all the pent-up fear and anguish she had held in for a long time in a fit of hysterical sobs.

A large hand rubbed soothing circles into her trembling back, and she allowed herself to cry into Mr. Crowley’s chest.

“Ssh, it’s alright,” he whispered into her hair and it only made her cry harder, “I’ve got you, ‘iss alright.”

She had to tell him, but her cries would only let her hiccup brokenly. “…Mi-Mi-Miss Fell….”

The soothing motions against her back stopped. Maurielle continued, “…h-help her, Mr. Cr-Crowley, help her!”

He said something she could not understand over her cries. She pushed forward, nevertheless.

“Bu-Butler Protz! He-He took her-Mi-he…he took Miss Fell!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphaeus is nuts. Let's hope Crowley gets there soon! 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed it! Let me know what you think in the comments and as always thank you for reading :3 
> 
> ps: next chapter is gonna be INTENSE.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Couple days ago I woke to a pinched nerve in my shoulder. I've been a little out of commission for a few days as it was actually pretty painful writing (though I'm suspicious it might be karma for writing these angsty scenes hahaha nothing like a little physical pain to inspire some angst!). You guys have been so amazing, I can't ask for better readers and commentators, seriously this fandom is chalked full of the best people! 
> 
> Also, special thanks to Chai_Muffin for this AMAZING fanart of my story. The way FemAziraphale was drawn was beyond beautiful, and I could not stop staring at Azi and Crowley's portraits. You can check it out at the link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344668

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: heavy stuff! Might want to bust out the old Evanescence cds guys, cuz this is going to be an angsty one. also, warnings for spooky-spooky elements, depictions of gore, violence, and danger. The mature rating really comes into play for this one. I made sure not to get into detail, but hold on to your appetites.

“How did you get that over his head?” Copper mused, standing with arms folded watching the deranged cook fumble around unsteadily under the weight of the vase, falling a few times. As though watching a dog scramble with its head stuck in a box, no threat whatsoever.

When the only answer he received were the continuous cries of the frightened Windsor child, Thaddeus turned around and was greeted by a silently approaching Crowley, his face an empty canvas giving nothing away to what he was feeling. His lanky arms held the child protectively as she sobbed her heart out in his chest.

Copper did not inquire further. Crowley stopped a few feet in front of Thaddeus, and with the gentle handling of a father he shifted the child to pull her away, arms stretching out to hand her over to the doctor in an unspoken request. Copper took the child and mimicked the same comforting hold on the child, tucking her against his chest. Her large blue eyes blinked tearily up at him and then over to Crowley.

“I’ll round back to the other entry to the servant’s quarters. She’ll be safe there with the others.” Copper supplied helpfully. “We’ll barricade the doors and wait it out as best as we can.”

Crowley nodded, but said nothing. His face remained stoic, save for the tension pinching his thin brows which did not go unnoticed by the doctor’s analytical eyes. Something was not right.

“She needs reinforcement, I take it?”

Crowley nodded, still quiet.

Maurielle piped up suddenly with wide eyes drawing the doctor’s attention down. “Butler Protz! Mean old man, he kidnapped Miss Fell!”

Copper blinked back startled and looked up to Crowley for confirmation, finding plenty in his expression.

“The Butler? Did not expect that—”

“I’ll be back.” Crowley suddenly spoke, gravely and hoarse yet more than he had in awhile. He moved suddenly, reaching hands underneath his Spanish cloak feeling for something hidden behind him.

When Crowley pulled back, he produced a hatchet with an intricately adorned black handle and a—

Copper’s eyes went wide, as did Maurielle’s. “…that a Colt Single Action?” He quickly adjusted the child to one hip and took the six-shot revolver from Crowley’s hands and tucked it into the waist of his pants opposite of the girl, giving it a last second appreciative glance before taking the hatchet.

“Where the hell were you keeping these?”

Crowley shrugged, and it was apparent he was in no mood for jokes. Copper understood with a silent nod. “Need to get me one of those cloaks.” He watched as the taller man turned on a swivel of one heel and strode quietly down the hallway.

Thaddeus and Maurielle watched as the tall dark figure disappeared down the stretch of hallway into the shadows. Behind them, the chef bounced against a wall and tumbled pitifully in a mess of limbs.

Maurielle growled adorably. “Nasty old Butler,” she sniffled, “I hope Mr. Crowley will be okay.”

Copper chuckled good naturedly and started in the opposite direction. “Little one, I think we have more to fear for the Butler’s safety than his.”

-:-

If there was one thing Aziraphale despised, whether in real life or in any book she’d ever read, it was self-righteous monologuing. And Alphaeus was far too damn good at it.

If the situation did not invite reason for alarm and sharp focus toward her captor, the angel would have been nodding off by now. A flash of lightning and crackle of thunder in the distance perked her up after a moment of wandering attention.

“…didn’t have much, really. Those days, back in the old country, any work you could get your hands on was better than no work. I could polish a shoe like brand new at only seven years of age, me! Men from all over town flocked for my expertise…”

Aziraphale’s eyes begged to roll back into her head, shoulders drooping and neck laxed forward she almost brought her bound hands up to share the weight of her head.

“…oh, that old polish kit got me through some hard times.” A hearty sigh and arm thrown over the back of the chair signaled the end of his reminiscence, tranquil amber eyes lost into the distance of the building clouds against the darkened sky. He nodded once, and fixed Aziraphale with fond eyes across the expanse of the table. “Funny thing, human memories…so different now.”

The conversation dwindled into another stretched silence, drawing Aziraphale’s attention toward the contemplative Duke across from her. He appeared thoughtfully invested in breathing the wine in his glass with distracted swirls, bottom lip sucked in slightly and nibbled by blunt teeth. He looked more human in that moment than he had since she first met him at the party. It made the angel wonder if this was the man Alphaeus Gastrell used to be, if that was even his real given name.

Like every fickle shift thus far, this one would be short lived as well.

In a flash Alphaeus was looking at her with the same investment he’d given the wine glass, an underlying glint of something that was not there prior. The angel prepared herself for what he was about to do next.

“…forgive me if anything I say is too direct,” her forgiveness at this point would be a difficult feat for him, and judging by his hesitance it was almost as if he knew this as well, “…oh, listen to me prattle on! I’ll just come right out with it!” Keeping his body laxed against the back of the chair with one arm slung over one edge, his other hand splayed out to smooth the wrinkles in the tablecloth.

“Aziraphale, my dove….” The angel tensed so hard at her name from his lips it froze her entire body. “…will you be my Diana of the hunt?”

His _what_?! Aziraphale blinked away with round eyes, then back at him with a confused tilt of her head.

“Erh, pardon?”

Alphaeus chuckled delightfully. “Hah, that sounded a lot better in my head. I’ll start over; see, the moment we met I had a good feeling about you, and the adorable way you snuck fudge so innocently while no one was watching was too delightful a sight to admire only once. The pure joy I saw on your rosy little cheeks threw my heart into a flurry. Struck by cupid’s arrow! Never had these eyes seen someone indulge so, it reminded me of my own euphoric indulgences.”

“I’m a man who enjoys the thrill of the hunt, dear.” Alphaeus continued, with every word becoming more confident and profound. “Bach has been able to put this love of mine in better words than I ever could! Oh, the lively hunt is all my heart's desire! A man after my own heart, he is. And what could be more enthralling than the chase?” He paused, more for his own building anticipation than for her answer. His eyes darkened lustfully. “The _catch_.”

Aziraphale was finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe.

“…am I your catch?” She all but sneered.

“No, my dear. You are my prize,” funny, she felt more like caught prey, “but not from the hunt. A sweet fawn in a den of lions, I will take you away from those grizzly creatures and keep you as mine. My little angelic pet.” The nausea from earlier resurfaced painfully in her stomach.

Alphaeus did not notice the way her nose scrunched from the queasiness. “Things are…about to get exciting here; pretty soon we’ll have _quite a handful_ of ghouls wandering these halls, and knowing how I can get a little…carried away while hunting, it would pain me if anything should happen to you. Especially in the weakened state you’re in.” The more he spoke the more information he gave away about what he knew, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if she should be more relieved that he underestimated her, or worried that he thought so lowly of her ability to stop him that he did not seem worried about it.

“Protz,” Alphaeus snapped his fingers and waved his butler over without breaking their eye contact, “the entrees please?”

The Butler moved silently forward, and once he stood inches from the table the angel watched as his hands held two plates with silver dish covers, one in each flattened palm. Keeping his stoic gaze forward, he bent forward and placed the dishes in front of Alphaeus and Aziraphale. He then stood up straight yet did not move away.

Alphaeus let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah, I can’t wait. That pea-brained Tuff still hasn’t come back with the silverware, but…no matter.” With a flick of his wrist, swan folded napkins containing their utensils materialized next to the dishes.

“Anyway, my dove; I have a good idea this is a proposition you’ve never received from someone—something like me,” he flashed her a pearly white grin and a wink as he drew his arms in to fold hands together and propped his chin on them. “But just think; an angel and a…I guess I’m pretty much a demon or something close to it at this point with all that I’ve eaten—coming together in union? Scandalous! Outrageously so! We’ll pave a new foundation with a communion never before seen! I must be the first to ever pitch such a thing!”

Alphaeus was giving himself _way_ too much credit. Aziraphale almost shook her head and tutted at the poor creature; unfortunately for him, he was not the first demonic being to form an alliance with an angel; beat by several thousand years to be exact, and—

Wait.

The angel had to act quick to mask the shock behind her sudden revelation. Did Alphaeus not know _what_ Crowley was? She was so sure it was obvious, but…. She decided to test her theory.

“Alphaeus,” Aziraphale said gently, wincing at the swooned expression he made when she said his name, “if I may inquire…how long have you been,” she nodded at him emphasis, “…a-a dem—like this?”

The Duke blinked slowly out of his dreamy gaze to quirk a mirthful brow, shrugging slightly. “Mm, oh…I’d say about a few months now.”

Ah. Well, that explained a lot. A six thousand year old Principality, a former Guardian of the Eastern Gate and soldier of Heaven’s army should not have been so intimidated by a mere green-eared fledgling, but she was not wrong for feeling that way; after all, with how extreme this man’s emotions tended to fluctuate it was apparent he lacked discipline over his newfound powers. Strong-willed as he was, overly confident, his reckless bravado stemmed from sheer ignorance and ignorance bred recklessness, and recklessness of that caliber was dangerous.

Yet it still did not completely confirm her suspicions, however convincing it may have been now was not the time for assumptions; not when her demon’s safety depended on it.

“What do you say, my beautiful fawn?” Alphaeus cooed lovingly from a sickly saccharine smile, his amber eyes glowing like flames in barely contained anticipation.

Aziraphale remained quiet long enough to notice the Duke’s eyelid twitch. She broke their stare, not wanting to see the capricious reaction at her next words, to give her unfocused attention at the silver-plated dish cover in front of her.

“Your Grace,” she would be as polite and forthright as possible, “…it is…a very gracious offer. You have gone to so much just for my sake,” she prided her ability to lie through a straight face, “and it does not go unacknowledged nor unappreciated. This is all rather flattering to say the least—” she paused when she could see him twitch from her peripheral and thought it best to cut to the chase.

“That being said, I must respectfully decline your offer. Alphaeus, Your Grace, it would not be fair to you if I gave you my wholehearted loyalty when…,” there was no going back now, “…when my heart is already sworn to someone else.” There, she said it. If the Duke found no inch of uncertainty in her decision, he was just going to have to live with that.

The silence that fell over the table was impossibly louder than the rumbling thunder of the clouds above them, heavier too. Aziraphale kept her attention at her blurry reflection in the silver dish cover. To her left, she noticed the way Protz flinched infinitesimally toward her and made a mental note not to forget it.

As expected, when Alphaeus spoke next his tone was bitter and spiked with resentment.

“Is it that _Queen’s Hound_?”

Seconds passed by slowly, and Aziraphale let the silence between them be his only answer.

A fist slammed down on the table, not has harsh as the one earlier, but jarring enough to send a tremble down her spine. The angel did not look up.

“That…that _fraud_?!” Alarms blared in Aziraphale’s head, but she ignored it; he would continue despite her lack of response.

“I knew it,” he hissed petulantly, “how someone like _that_ can steal someone so precious—that undeserving phony.” The next tremble down her spine was not from fear or trepidation, but from a new breed of anger. “Thinking he can waltz in here under false identity, so sure he slipped a veil over everyone’s eyes, and dare take something precious from _me_? Let me tell you something, _sweetheart_ ,” he growled, “that man is not who he claims to be.”

The thundering of Aziraphale’s heartbeat in her throat was more boisterous than the clouds above them. Hidden behind the dish cover, her restrained hands clenched into anxious fists.

Alphaeus snarled. “Oh no, he is no Hound. That man is a…a con artist!”

Not at all what she was expecting him to say, but the surge of relief allowed her to blink up at him in surprise, barely fazed by how rage twisted his face in an ugly scowl. His eyes blazed like a roaring fire, black pupils beginning to expand.

“Con-con artist—?” There was no mistaking it now; Alphaeus did not know Crowley was a demon.

“You are much cleverer than you let on, my dear.” He tutted mockingly, as if scolding a child for a white lie. “Naivety is a delicious look on you, but I’m no fool.” Oh, would she have given anything to laugh in his face at the irony if she were not certain it would throw this unstable being into a fit of blind fury.

“I…It was not my intention to make you feel that way—”

“Of _course_ not, dove.” The Duke’s voice dripped sarcasm, laden with contempt. His eyes narrowed at her, lip twitching in a snarl to show only a glimpse of pointed teeth. “Sadly, your answer was not unexpected…as much as it pains me to admit.” He snapped his fingers loudly, and Protz reacted instantly; leaning forward, he grabbed the top handle of the dish covers and lifted them effortlessly.

Aziraphale wished she had prepared better for what happened next. As her eyes drifted downward to see what the Duke had ordered for her, one look at the meal and her stomach lurched hard enough to wrench a disgusted choke from her lips. She tried desperately to scoot back in the chair to put as much space as she could from the sight in front of her, but the unyielding strength of Protz’ one-handed grip on the back of the chair would not allow her to. Instead, she tried to lean to the right, squeezing her eyes closed against the tears that threatened to form and swallowing down her body’s reaction to vomit.

The angel’s attempts were in vain, as ice cold fingers gripped her jaw in an unforgiving hold and forced her to sit straight in the chair and face forward. Protz could force her all he wanted to, but she would not open her eyes. She could not—would not dare to stare at it and risk adding any more detail to what was already etched behind her eyelids; the fleshy lump glazed with red blood and black fluid which mixed in like an ink spill…the same black fluid which drenched the cotton twine and smeared like midnight against her pale wrists.

If the thick dark substance which threatened her essence with pure agony was not already a dead giveaway, the stinging acidic stench was unmistakably clear.

Demon blood.

-:-

Willard Tuff had ventured through these halls for decades, more loyal to the enormous structure than its current Master, unlike the last owners he had served dutifully before they met a most brutal end at the hands of….

It were these thoughts which consumed the portly older groundskeeper and threw him off course several times. He knew the castle like the back of his eyelids, could explain every detail of every square inch without hesitation. Knowing this, Willard should have made it to the kitchen and on his way back with the silverware a long time ago, and he was unsure if the fear that consumed him caused his delayed return or the unforgiving distractions that plagued him were the real reason.

This gigantic stone empire felt so unfamiliar now. What was once a warm home to a loving family was now a haunting shell of its former establishment; shadows now held sinister secrets, the walls bled horrific truths, and the ground beneath him hid the shallow graves of innocent people.

So consumed in his own thoughts, the groundskeeper failed to notice the shadows he spoke of earlier moving unnaturally, the only hint given and instantly overlooked was the vigilant stare of two round glowing eyes following the large man down the winding corridors silently, an orange chroma more vibrant red than its yellow amalgamation. Black slit pupils stalked the oblivious soul in his wayward trek down the pathways, albeit lonely though far from alone.

There was no sound, from neither voice nor object, that prepared the unfortunate human for what lurked in the darkness to suddenly lunge forward, and no sooner could Willard cry out in fear than the attempt was knocked breathlessly from his lungs by the unforgiving force of his weight slamming against the nearest wall.

Vision once blurry by the impact cleared to stare at the long shadow coming to life around him, a silhouette blacker than night framing two hellish eyes peering down at him unblinking and merciless. Lungs too petrified to operate correctly, Willard could not will his body to move despite the obsidian talons adorning long fingers perched on his chest just over his pulsing heart, the razor tips clenched in warning that should he move so much as an inch, they would rip out his heart.

Something descended upon him, enveloping him in a chorus of whispered hisses.

_“…groundsssssskeeper…._ ”

Whatever it was, it knew him. Of all the unexplainable things he had seen up until this moment withered in comparison to what slithered around him in a deafening shuffle of scales, an entrancing stare keeping his thick limbs numb.

Duke Gastrell, at his most demented, held no flame to the terror Willard was experiencing.

Another scaly long hand appeared out of the suffocating darkness toward him, curling fingers except for the index and thumb, reached forward and plucked something from the groundskeeper’s meaty shoulder. He watched entrancingly as the claws moved between him and the entity.

For the first time it seemed as though the snake eyes raging with hellfire found something more interesting to gaze upon, breaking the stare to focus on something almost nonexistent pinched between two talons.

When the heavyset man focused his eyes forward, he found himself staring at one long, wavy blond strand of hair.

But it was not until the strand erupted in flames that this creature reacted. The hair burned quick, and it sparked static gold as it reacted with the being’s produced flames. Molten orange-red eyes directed black slivers directly at Willard’s ashen face and was soon accompanied by two enormous protracted fangs.

The intensity of this thing’s hiss almost perforated the human’s eardrums.

“ _Groundsssskeeper…tell me what I need to know….”_

Hypnotized, Willard nodded with eyes as wide as his mouth was slack.

“ _Good…where issssss~she?”_

-:-

Aziraphale realized she had long ago lost any remaining control over her situation when the extent of such a damning truth finally settled in the part of her brain normally reserved for processing rational thought, and to add insult to injury she was ripped from those thoughts when a splash of hot liquid splattered against one side of her face.

The gleaming edge of a dagger shimmered in her vision just inches from her face. At first Aziraphale was not sure where it came from or if it struck her, but when she felt no pain she blinked away enough muddlement to shift her eyes to the side to see a good length of the dagger imbedded in the butler’s wrist.

Astonishingly, Protz made no sound or reaction to the blade stuck in his wrist. He did, however, release his grip on her jaw and backed away from the angel with a slight bow.

Alphaeus kept his hand up, and it was made quite clear now who threw the dagger. Eyes now completely black, his lips thin and stretched against the deformed protrusion of razor teeth, the Duke snarled at his own butler with seething indignation dripping from his mouth.

“I gave you _no_ instruction to put your hands on her.”

Protz bowed low, not removing the blade from his flesh by what only could be assumed as some self-inflicted punishment for acting on his own accord against his master’s wishes.

“Yes, Your Grace—”

“Stand over there until you’re needed.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale could barely hear them over her corporation’s blood pulsing in her ears, her soft body riddled with uncontrollable tremors. She allowed herself one shaky exhale, and the act unfortunately drew Alphaeus’ attention back to her. Something sinister crossed over his face when he took in the black splatters against her ghostly pale face.

“What’s wrong, love? A little demon’s blood looks good on your complexion. Or is it the meal I’ve had prepared for you?” He waved an open hand toward the contents on her plate. A long charcoal-black tongue shot out past razor teeth to slide unmarred across the pointed edges. “Do not fret, it’s not a demon’s heart. I’m not that much in a rush to watch you take the more painful alternative to my proposal.”

Webs of lightning crawled across the dark skies above, a flash of blinding light casting irregular shadows upon them. The storm had rolled in and was now above them ominously, at any moment the skies would open and unleash a torrential downfall. Aziraphale distantly wished it would be powerful enough to wash away everything that was happening.

It interrupted the monster across the table for only a quick pause. His head tilted to one side. “You remember the unfortunate man found mauled in the foyer?”

Aziraphale turned away then, sickened beyond the point of stomaching any more of this abomination or his threats. She didn’t have to look at him to know he grinned mockingly at her.

“No need to wait on me, dearest. Please, dig in—”

“Would she want this?”

The angel couldn’t take it anymore, and thankfully it was enough to finally silence the megalomaniac. When he did not follow up her question with a response, she pushed forward.

“Y-Your…your mother, would she want her son to-to reduce himself to—” she cut herself off to take a deep breath, “—to forcing others to bend under his will like this?”

There was no mistaking the dangerous territory Aziraphale found herself treading, but seeing as how her ultimatum was either giving herself to him or being forced into a slow agonizing last meal to her destruction, she didn’t see why buying time was irrelevant.

_Crowley…._ The angel would give anything to see him right now, whether by a selfish need or desperate plea wanted to close her eyes and wake up from this nightmare to see his molten yellow eyes gazing down at her affectionately, his arms warm and protective warding off the frightening cold.

But this shell of a man, this demon-eating beast wearing human flesh, he could hurt Crowley in the most unimaginable ways if Alphaeus ever found out what he was. The thought of her best friend, her dearest serpent, dying slowly in a stone grave as the last thing those sunburst eyes saw was this thing devouring—

Aziraphale let out a sob she was not aware she had been holding in. She couldn’t risk her beloved demon because she was not able to see herself out of yet another perilous disposition.

Time to pay the pied piper for her obliviousness.

But she would not go down belly-up.

“A-Alphaeus,” Aziraphale whispered while still not meeting his eyes, “you claim to understand those who are not given opportunity to-to live how they should…,” tears slipped past her tightly shut eyelids to drop from long lashes, “…so why… _why_ is this any different? What makes this better?” Another pause for a shaking breath, bound hands fisting tightly in her lap. “What makes you more righteous of heart to carry on in such a way and still think yourself worthy to cast judgement on those people down there losing themselves to your vengeful path?”

It was a miracle someone like Alphaeus allowed her to go on for as long as she did, and the silence that stretched after she was done became increasingly concerning. There was no way she got through to him so easily.

Tear-flooded blue eyes finally blinked open and turned to see his reaction, swallowing down her dread as she did so.

The idea that maybe someone or something was looking out for her then was a fleeting one, yet seeing the glass half full considered his stunned state that perhaps what she said may have cracked barriers—

Suddenly, he was no longer sitting across from her. More suddenly, the table was no longer in front of her, now flying horizontally to the left opposite of the butler and with it the dishes, the disgrace-for-food, swan napkins, silverware, and wine glasses soaring through the moisture-rich night air.

A punishing grip on her arm ripped her up from her seat on stumbling bare feet, dragging her back viciously.

Time skipped like a stone throw across a lake until the gusty winds carrying the scent of salt water brought Aziraphale back to current; the Duke was only inches away from her now, but the worst of it all came suddenly when he placed one flat hand to the middle of her chest and shoved, and a rough stone edge caught the back of her calves sending her nearly careening backward off the roof.

The angel screamed, and then gasped as that same hand caught the middle length of twine connecting her wrists, yanking her arms painfully straight as the rest of her weight hung over the edge. Gravity strained the sockets behind her shoulder blades, bare feet scrambling for purchase as she dangled back.

Chancing a quick look behind her past wind-whipped blond hair, blue eyes shot open wide as stories below the dark ocean waters beneath crashed against rigid rocks built up around the stone walls, the storm’s gusts carrying strong currents over the unforgiving force of the waves.

She moved her head back to look past stressed arms horrified as Alphaeus glared hard at her, one hand clenched around the twine and the other raised to his mouth as sharp teeth tore the glove off finger by finger.

“You…you mustn’t!” Aziraphale panted through her fear.

“You left me no choice.” Alphaeus’ tone left no room for persuasion. Once the glove was off and fell forgotten between them, he nicked the pad of his thumb against a sharp canine until black blood bubbled up from the fresh cut. “Death must be so inconveniencing for a being like you? Once it’s over, you just go back to where you’re from and come back in moment’s time, right?”

“I wonder,” he mused, and brought the bleeding thumb to the pale expanse of her chest between her collarbones above the collar of the lace dress. She yelped when he smeared a pattern against her skin. Aziraphale was just barely able to make out the distinct pattern of a circle with a star drawn inside, but she could not identify the last pattern he drew on top of the star.

Excruciating fire ripped howls from Aziraphale’s essence in the ethereal plain, draining her withered divine powers to a cold numbness. Her wings shuttered and drooped lifelessly in exhaustion.

Alphaeus' eyes roamed over the bloody symbol admiring his work, and continued. “…with your angelic soul so weak, that mortal body you wear is literally the only thing getting in the way from my ichor attacking your _real_ body….”

“If I dropped you right now, would that be enough to destroy you?” The question was rhetorical and even if it wasn’t, the angel was too petrified to answer. The assumed answer left unspoken hanging in the air between them was too grim to vocalize.

This monster had the audacity to tut at her as if she were a child with irrational fear. “Don’t look so put out, dear. You had a choice, you chose _them_. Be proud, dove, and stand by the decisions you made.” He took a step forward and as he did, she tipped farther back unbalanced over the edge. “You broke my heart, Aziraphale. You’ll just have to take that to your death. And that fraud will die soon after you.”

He uncurled one finger from the hold on the twine, and another as he taunted each word. “And so will those precious little babes. Maurielle and Charlie, were their names? Tsk, innocent little things,” he shrugged noncommittally, “they’ll have to thank their sweet nanny for why—”

A shuffle of movement interrupted Alphaeus, words dying in his throat and with wide eyes turned around to see the odd noises coming from where his butler stood.

Aziraphale glanced over to where the Duke was staring, her mouth opening in shock as the stoic Protz was now a silent struggling mess crumpled on the ground, attempting to move legs now bent and twisted in irregular shapes.

For an eternity-long second no one moved or spoke, until the Duke whispered in growing interest.

“…oh—?” He was quickly cut off by a forewarning dripped in quiet fury.

“Move an inch, and your body will look like his legs.”

Relief battled with dread in Aziraphale’s heart, and she wasn’t sure whether to curse or to pray when she peered over Alphaeus’ shoulder to join is fascinated stare with an alarmed one at her enraged demon.

Before she could shout out, Alphaeus beat her to it with his own masked in delightful awe.

“Hello, _Queen’s Hound_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, Alphaeus you psycho prick! But alas, this is only the beginning. And trust me, I did not want to cut it off here but it was already so long! We'll just have to keep gripping the edge of our seats a little longer!
> 
> Let me know what you think so far! All comments welcome~! Thank you for reading!


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love you guys ಥ_ಥ the feedback from last chapter just blew me away with kind words, your favorite moments, theories, opinions, just wow <3 I'm so inspired by this fandom. Thank you all!
> 
> And with that said, I have to drop this giant ball of angst on your laps. One of, if not arguably the, angstiest chapter. Hunker down and grab a snack! Some light spoilers in the WARNINGs below, just fwi!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: more deranged psycho-babble, violence, mild-gore, angst x 2, and *LIGHT SPOILER HERE* use of/violence with firearm (because what could possibly happen now? >:} )

“Speak of the devil and they shall appear.” Alphaeus grinned, the humor underlying and sarcastic. Goading an already enraged demon was one of the worst offenses one could do, and the Duke appeared all but ready to add insult to injury.

“You’ll wish it was the devil after I’m done with you.” It was not a warning, but a promise. Nevertheless, Aziraphale did not welcome Crowley’s impeccably timed heroic rescue with the enthusiasm it deserved. As she dangled dangerously unsteady over the ledge of the roof, she carefully considered the best way to warn her demon this monster was more a threat to him than to her despite her current predicament.

It would have to wait a little longer, unfortunately. The air suddenly became thicker with the tension between these two than the humidity around them.

Alphaeus clicked his tongue. From where she stood, it was difficult for Aziraphale to make out any facial expressions on the Duke’s face, which was something she had heavily relied on when struggling to understand how he felt before his mood flickered like a flame in a windstorm.

Crowley stood a good yard from them, cautiously close and yet just enough distance from them to consider all the possible outcomes. Tall and rigid, his dark shades gave away no indication of who he was looking at. Judging by the pinched look on his face, however, Aziraphale could only assume her demon was boring holes into Alphaeus’ head.

Alphaeus sighed, turned his head to the side to look at his struggling butler’s broken legs and clicked his tongue again.

“Did a number on him.” He commented, sounding impressed. Suddenly, the Duke laughed mockingly. “Hah, take a moment and _stretch_ your legs, Protz! No rush.” And with that, the deranged creature tilted his head slowly back to face Crowley and the proverbial floodgate opened between the creature and the serpent.

Crowley hissed. “Not gonna be able to use your slack jockey for your bidding this time.”

“Impressively quick how you managed to mangle his bones like that. They teach you that in the _military academy_ , old dog?”

“Wanna see what else I can do?” Crowley challenged, clenched fists popping knuckles in warning.

“Well, if you’re offering—”

“—put her back on the ground, and I’ll show you—”

“—oh, that won’t be necessary—”

Good _lord,_ these two were like bickering boys in a schoolyard. Aziraphale almost rolled her eyes if the situation invited such.

“Cut the _shit_ , Gastrell.” Crowley snarled, leaning forward with one step. “What do you intend to gain from all this?”

Alphaeus nodded his head back dramatically and huffed. “Well, it _was_ to have this darling little thing here,” he shook the arm holding the twine which caused Aziraphale to stumble slightly on unsteady feet with a small startled cry, “accept my proposal, but…she had other loyalties far too important to her. Isn’t that right, dearest?” He cooed the last word sweetly. Crowley’s lip curled at the endearment.

“I _was_ planning on dropping her into the sea, but…you seem to have caught my interest for the time being.”

Aziraphale shouted desperately. “Crowley, be careful—!” The searing burn in her chest from the sigil erupted then and turned her words into pained mewls through clenched teeth.

The Duke shushed her in a mock tender tone. “Pipe down, my sweet fawn. The men are talking.”

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to her like that.” Crowley snarled not at all like himself, hackles raised and venom dripping from each word. His body tensed, ready to strike. The angel tried to discipline her expression into something calmer and more collected to sooth her furious demon, but it was possible her attempts would not be enough now.

Alphaeus, as reckless and impulsive as he was, seemed like the kind of person—or whatever he was—to enjoy baiting his prey, and reminded Aziraphale of a cat toying with its dinner before delivering the killing blow. If Crowley’s anger gave the monster anything to work with, she could not imagine how it could be manipulated to his favor.

To fit the analogy almost perfectly, Alphaeus’ next comment sounded like a purr. “A bit tetchy, are we? What’s wrong?” One did not have to see the monster’s face to know he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Has my home not been humbling enough? My guests too…wild? My—I’m sorry, but I keep coming back to how you were able to shatter my butler’s legs so fast, and I can’t seem to figure out how.” With his free hand, Alphaeus tapped his index finger against his temple.

In the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach, something dreadful began to stir and lurch. Crowley did not seem fazed by the comment.

“Anthony, all this…,” he fluttered a hand between them, “…mess aside, I must know how you achieved that?”

Crowley strained his head left to right, hollow pops rippling down each side of his neck before fixing the Duke with a scowl. “I offered to show you, did I not?” He motioned toward Aziraphale with a nod of his chin. “Give her to me, and I’ll gladly demonstrate.”

“Mm…,” what anyone else would have heard was the Duke considering Crowley’s offer, but to Aziraphale it was the concerning sound of a demented hunter weighing in his next decision; how to draw out his prey from hiding.

The angel suddenly noticed she was being stared at with one calculating black eye over the shoulder of her captor, and the intensity nearly turned her stone like the demon corpses around them.

The eye vanished as the monster motioned forward, however the amused hum that replaced it did nothing to quell the building dread.

“No…no, I don’t think I will.”

One strong jerk, and the twine was pulled sending Aziraphale forward, so she was no longer dangling off the edge but standing on it. Alphaeus moved quicker than a second to stand just to her corner on the other side of the raised stone she stood on to give Crowley a clear view of them. A strong hand wrapped around the front of the angel’s pale throat, holding her head up with the nail of his thumb under her chin. The gasp she could not stop did nothing for their situation and she cursed the way it made her demon flinch forward.

“This one,” Alphaeus waved his free hand over his captive angel’s form, as if showing off a proud catch, “is too precious to just hand over to anyone. I went to great lengths to secure her. Laid meticulous traps. I’ll be _damned_ before I just give her to you.”

 _Please, Crowley_. If there were a better time than any to rely on the language they had via exchanged stares, now would be the most crucial. Unfortunately, she could only trust her demon to notice beyond his temper only climbing from the demon-eater’s taunting to notice. _Don’t listen to him, he’s baiting you. He doesn’t know what you are, but he’s figuring it out._

Alphaeus chuckled at the reaction he got from Crowley. “Are you aware of what she is, Hound? Surely that nose of yours is decent enough to pick up on _that_.” Her demon’s nostrils flared at the harsh breath he exhaled. The Duke was quick to pick up on it. “You do, don’t you?” He was fascinated by this knowledge.

“Then you understand why I can’t give her to you.”

Judging by the alarmed way her demon startled just then, the monster must have flashed a razor-tooth grin. Even for a demon, a sight like that was shocking at how it warped the demon-eater’s face.

“You’ve given me some good ideas, Anthony. Foolish me, about to destroy such a darling thing.” The fingers wound around Aziraphale’s throat squeezed, and she wasn’t able to hold down the small choke at the pressure.

Alphaeus didn’t acknowledge Crowley’s bark in protest. “I think when this is all over, I’ll keep her chained in my room,” he kept his tone noncommittal with the type of lackadaisical interest one would have about where to place new furniture. “Oh, better yet! I’ll nail her pretty wings to the wall across from my bed.” He leaned forward at the waist to sneer in the serpent’s face, cackling at the obvious rage trembling those narrow shoulders.

“ _Imagine it_ ; soft, supple, naked angel pinned like a butterfly to my wall. Her pitiful little mewls will rouse me from slumber to pleasure each morning. Beautiful imagery, is it not?” He took a deep breath, reveling in whatever sick fantasy flashed across his eyes in a lustful high.

Aziraphale managed to crack one eye open through the pain, and almost cried out to her demon at the fanged growl twisting his handsome face, animosity moving his thin lean body forward with fingers curled to strike.

“Sick _bastard,_ I’ll tear you _apart_ — _!_ ”

No sooner than Crowley lunged, he pulled back and caught himself mid-step as Alphaeus brandished something long and silver from the hand not wound around the angel’s throat, the thicker end of the object perched over his bicep and the long two cylinders making up the majority of its length pointing toward Crowley. The Duke’s hand poised long fingers around the indented part, index finger loosely wrapped around a trigger.

Something Crowley said years ago rang in Aziraphale’s ears at the sight of the foreign contraption. If her memory served her correctly, it was about the guillotine while she was chained up in the Bastille; _Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel. Only humans do that._ Did that apply to someone like Alphaeus?

Speaking of; she could hear the baritone chuckle as the air went eerily still, followed by the sound of his tongue clicking. “Tch, tch, bad dog. Heel, boy. That’s right, you’re in no position to make commitments like that right now.”

Aziraphale watched, powerless, as realization fell swiftly upon Crowley’s face similar to her own when she realized earlier just how far from sanity this monster was. How she wanted to warn him that this was only the start of what her demon would see, it was almost maddening.

More stunning than a light in a darkroom, Alphaeus chirped excitedly. “You like it?” He wagged the smooth metal. “Had one made while I was cruising through America last month. Apparently, they haven’t seen one made like this before. As one who frequently hunts large game, how could I resist?” He lifted the weapon up and with one eye closed the other peered down the length of the double-barrel pointed directly at the space between Crowley’s eyes.

“Hammerless shotgun, they called it.” Alphaeus crooned lovingly at the name. He suddenly lowered it and grinned boyishly for only a few seconds before his lips stretched over rigid elongated teeth so much so his eyes squinted into gleeful slits.

“A hound seems no good to use this on…but a wolf would do.” It was a strange thing to say, seemingly out of nowhere until Aziraphale was able to connect the dots and proven right by the Duke’s deranged torment.

“With canines likes that, you’re no hound at all. What are you then, if not a wolf?” Alphaeus cackled and his shoulders bounced as he did.

Crowley fixed the man with a disgusted look, still frozen where he stood. “The bleeding hell are you on about? Crazy bastard, you haven’t made a damn bit of sense.”

There were times when her dear serpent’s obliviousness was the most adorable thing Aziraphale had ever seen, for the many times he would pick on the angel for how obtuse she could be at times, she had wanted to blurt out on several occasions that perhaps he should go look in a mirror before picking on her, the wily old hypocrite. She never once thought how something so innocently precious would be so detrimental.

Alphaeus tilted his head thoughtfully, turned to smirk at Aziraphale nearly gasping beneath his constricting fingers, quirked a brow, glanced at Protz currently trying to reset his right femur, and finally swiveled back to gaze at Crowley.

The angel caught it that time; her demon moved his head as if to look at her and shrugged, silently mouthing a _what is it with this lunatic?_ to which she managed to mouth back _a lot of bolts loose, darling, I know._

“What are you hiding behind those shades, wolf?”

Neither angel nor demon spoke, and the silence was blessed by the soft tapping of rain which blew in with a cool gust. Lightning painted scattered webs across the night sky, no thunder followed. The cold mist amongst the droplets felt refreshing on the angel’s mortal skin.

It did not distract from the question, unfortunately, which lingered stale and toxic.

A crack tore through the air from something powerful and human-made. Unlike the rumbles in the sky, this one erupted stars and lights in Aziraphale’s vision and popped her ears. Panic stopped her beating heart for a fraction of a second, fear ripping a scream from her lips. _Crowley!_

“The _fuck_ was that for?!” He didn’t sound injured. A little shaky given the quiver in his voice, but once she was able to see she drew a relieved breath for her uninjured demon.

“I _said_ , what..are..you..hiding, wolf.” It was not a question the second time.

Crowley stood his ground with a chin held high and shoulders straight, and only Aziraphale felt like the only being truly seeing the serpent as he really was right now. He wore his courage as beautiful as the scales of his serpent form, yet behind it laid a million scattered thoughts. When he set his jaw just slightly to the right, the angel found the telltale sign he was chewing on his next decision anxiously.

Aziraphale never understood why her oldest friend always insisted she was the cleverer one of them, and maybe because he never saw himself from her eyes before. That was a shame, really. He always did look so stunningly roguish when he looked like that.

“…give me the angel, and I’ll show you.” Crowley challenged.

Alphaeus stared, expression blank, and then blinked very slowly. “Very well, then.” Keeping his stare directly at the other demon, his arm began to bend at the elbow which rotated the shotgun with a turn of his wrist until the firearm’s stare tilted upside down over his shoulder.

Staring down the two long barrels of a shotgun was a new experience to the angel; one she would likely never forget. His finger wrapped around the trigger.

“Must be _some_ secret—”

“ _Stop!”_ Crowley threw both hands up as if to reach out but thought better of it and instead held them up palm out in surrender, a ghost of a tremor in his long fingers. His flaming dark red hair glistened with beads of rain drops, a few locks falling astray to fall damp across his forehead. Raindrops slid along the lenses of his dark spectacles.

It was unheard of for angels to curse someone, but damn it all Aziraphale would curse this creature to the pits of Hell for ripping away their Free Will, in a fashion that would make each of their higher ups approve, and force Crowley to choose between exposing himself to danger or being the reason she fell to her death. Damn this monster, she could have cried from the frustration alone.

“…don’t hurt her. I’ll do it.” Crowley yielded calmly, ignoring the way Aziraphale shook her head pleadingly, and reached up to grab his spectacles on either side of the frames. She could hear Alphaeus take in a deep breath, silently anticipating the demon’s secret.

When the serpent removed his shades, his eyes were closed at first, and when the glasses were completely gone Crowley raised his head and opened his eyes. Aziraphale held her breath and had this been any other time would have marveled at the way his normally yellow irises glowed with an orange chroma around black slits.

She would have to hold her appreciation, because Alphaeus made his known with a trembling exhale from his broad back, so awestruck by his discovery he lowered the arm holding the shotgun. Crowley grimaced at whatever expression bled into the creature’s features she could not see. His fingers laxed their bruising grip on her throat to dance along the nape of her neck excitedly.

“ _Oh…,_ ” Alphaeus breathed out lustfully and tilted his head, “… _how_ _gorgeous_.” He shook his head and barked out a breathless cackle. “What a secret, indeed! No wonder you were so hesitant. Dear me, what beautiful gems you hid away from the world. Marvelous things, simply lovely—”

“Alright,” Crowley hissed, “you’ve made your point.” He shifted uneasily under the intensity of the Duke’s fascinated stare. Crowley was never one for admiration, could barely stand Aziraphale _ooh-_ ing and _aww_ -ing over him on a regular day.

The Duke held his stare for quite a while, evidently loving the way it made the demon squirm slightly.

“No wolf at all…you delicious thing, hiding right under my nose…like the stealthy snake you are.” Alphaeus almost moaned, and if Aziraphale wasn’t so terrified she would have allowed herself to feel the full force of possessive anger.

“You’re much more appealing than all those others I’ve seen. I wonder if you’ll taste better than they did.” Alphaeus hummed, face splitting into a starved grin large enough for the angel to see. When he turned his face a certain way, she saw the impossibly round way his eyes opened.

Something strange and unfamiliar flashed across the demon-eaters face, as soon as it was there it was gone, and that promised nothing good. The rain began to fall harder over them, drenching their hair and clothes within a tense minute.

Alphaeus looked up, unfazed by the rain splashing against his distorted features. He moved his arm up and aimed the shotgun at Crowley like before, and the fingers around the angel’s throat squeezed with renewed strength.

“Let’s play a game, Anthony.” He paused, and Crowley tensed in waiting.

“If you move as quick as I think you do, I’m curious. Can you outrun a bullet to save a falling angel?”

The fingers around Aziraphale were gone, replaced by a shove to her chest and forcing unbalanced feet off the stone ledge. The wind rushed past the angel’s ears with deafening gusts, narrowly blocking out the rippling crack of a gunshot above. The distance from her to the roof grew in alarming speed as she fell, a scream whipping through the wind before she could recognize it was coming from her in a panicked fright, eyes straining to stay open watching the rain soar past her.

So, this was what it was like to die by falling, a distant barely cognitive part of her mused absently. Her vision grew dark until she could not see the stone slabs rushing past her from the left nor the flashes of lightning in the sky. Her wings twitched but did not materialize into the corporeal dimension. Oh well, at least she would slip into a peaceful unconsciousness before hitting the rocks—

As the darkness descended on her, Aziraphale realized her eyes were still open and a _fwoom_ pierced through the wind. Solid warmth covered her front, a crushing hold around her middle keeping her close until all at once she was no longer falling but hoisted into a staggering animation. A flash of crashing waves and gnarled rocks could be seen briefly beyond her black veil. She was upside down.

Upside down and held in a bruising embrace with her head buried in a sharp collarbone and hollow throat so distinctly her demon’s she could have cried.

 _“Tssch!”_ She heard a pained hiss and watched with growing cognizance as the enormous expanse of black feathers fought together against the storm’s forceful gusts, lurching them up from the raging currents beneath.

“ _Hold on, Angel.”_ Crowley’s growl enveloped her.

With one final thrust, they were propelled sideways in a twisted angle, and no sooner had that happened the sound of thick plated glass shattering brought them into a foreign space of no powerful winds or driven rain, no sea grave or threatening rocks.

And threatening rocks or no, their landing was still rough and rug-burned in several areas. Their momentum died shortly in a few tumbles until Aziraphale laid sprawled atop of Crowley’s long torso, his arms trembling badly held her impossibly tight against him as if she were still falling. And that was fine, because the angel wasn’t so sure she wanted to break away from him.

Their erratic breathing mingled together in the stillness of the dark room around them were the only sounds apart from the storm raging outside the shattered window. Hearts raced against each other struggled to steady.

Adrenaline shot at this point, Aziraphale wrenched her head up from Crowley’s rain-soaked neck to see his face, sighing when she saw unfocused and half-lidded yellow eyes gazing up at the ceiling over her shoulder. “Crowley…,” her voice sounded cracked and small it was a wonder he heard her at all, yet with a slow blink he regarded her stormy eyes with a similar gaze. Slit pupils dropped to her chest in a pinched expression. She didn’t have to follow his eyes to know he was looking at the bloody pentagram no doubt smudged from the rain and everything else.

Crowley let out a shuddering breath, and uncurled one shaking hand from around her waist to smear the rest of the sigil out of existence, and Aziraphale’s heart melted when she felt his nimble fingers move from her collarbone, up her pale neck where wet blond locks stuck to her skin, and settled on cupping one side of her face tenderly.

“A-Angel,” his whisper labored, and tired, “you alright?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to hold steady enough with how her lips quivered. The angel eventually managed a hoarse, “…and you?”

As if his pained winces and irregular breathing were not enough of a sign, Aziraphale knew something was dreadfully wrong when Crowley failed to meet her eyes with a sluggish shift somewhere to the left of her, and he only did that when he couldn’t answer her honestly.

“…Crowley.” She forced his attention back to her, a sad glint telling her before he could say anything.

When reality finally caught up with Aziraphale, she tried to balance her tied wrists pinned between them and shift off him while being as mindful as possible of any injuries. Eyes panicked and round, her heart drummed painfully in her ears. “…Crowley, where…?” She saw it as soon as she asked, and the words withered in her dry throat.

Whatever kind of bullet that could shred fabric and flesh alike was one the angel never wanted to be near as long as she lived in this world. Mortal red blood oozed from deep tears and gashes in her demon’s left abdomen, soaking angry blotches in the off-white lace of her dress—so much blood it almost appeared as though she were the one wounded.

She motioned off him from the right to sit up on folded legs, and he immediately curled into the wound with a spasm of long limbs, hissing out a pained whine from clenched teeth as his drenched black wings retracted back into the ethereal realm. Long fingers scrambled over the gashes trying to consolidate the area of searing pain, or to stop the flow of blood, or both she was far from certain.

“ _No…_ ,” she whimpered, bringing her heads up to cover her mouth as bursts of tears blurred her sight. Feeling utterly helpless, the angel could do nothing but sit petrified and watch Crowley writhe in misery, curses pouring through grinding teeth. “Crowley…he-he shot you…”

“I _know_ , Aziraphale—” he caught himself instantly when it came out angrier than he’d meant it to, “…I know…iss’alright—”

“C-Can you heal it…?”

“ _Mm_ ’tryin,” Crowley wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut and hissed when another spasm of pain rippled through his body. “Juss’need to focus.”

His hands were badly quaking, and the sight snapped Aziraphale subconsciously forward. She managed through restrained wrists to lift him carefully by his shoulders and was able to prop him gently in her lap. Through the writhing and pain-induced delirium, he seemed to welcome the soft cushion of her thighs, nuzzling his head into her tummy to muffle his shuttering moans. Aziraphale could feel the tension in his body rigid and convulsing with tremors.

With muffled hisses, she could hear him trying to form a sentence through gnashed teeth, “b-bastard…couldn’t,” she tried to hush him when it was obvious each word only making the pain more severe but he continued brokenly, “c-couldn’t miracle it…the gun, he-he enchanted it.”

Alphaeus had been one step ahead of them this entire time; his element of surprise because of their oversights were beginning to take its toll on them, and she found awful truth in that notion by Crowley’s mutilated abdomen and watching as his bloody hands shook so violently he could barely touch the injured area without nearly shouting.

“Crowley,” her voice did not sound familiar to her, “please…just focus on healing. W-What do you need? What…what can I do?” _Nothing_ , something hissed in her mind. She was powerless, could barely even see into the ethereal realm much less conjure a shred of divine energy to heal her suffering demon.

But beating herself up over what she could _not_ do was taking away from what she had left, and she would be a hypocrite if she did not believe in what her human corporation could do for them. If humans could rely on sheer willpower, she could too.

Aziraphale leaned down, all but curled over the serpent, and pressed herself against him as tenderly as possible, and wrapped his shivering frame in whatever warmth the cold wind-driven rain had not taken. She extended her hands out on top of his trembling hand over the wound and steadied it.

“ _Crowley_ …,” she closed her eyes and whispered to him gently, “ _…love, dearest, breathe deep. In and out, just breathe.”_

He let out a long pitiful whine against her stomach. “… _’zzziraphale_ , _it…can’t—hurts_.” His labored breathing increased to stuttered chokes, an awful telltale sign of shock setting in on his corporation. She hummed soothingly despite it, evening out her breathing. _“I know, dear, just breathe. Focus on my voice, nothing else._ ” Her chin wobbled with a powerful sob, but she held it in. Not now, she coached herself, not when her best friend needed her.

“ _Errgh!_ ” Her demon hitched with the force of the next convulsion, and the high-pitched noise threatened to shatter her heart. “ _Anngh-Angel…_ don’wanna leave you’ere—"

 _“Ssh, dear, you won’t. Listen to my voice, focus on that. I’ve got you,_ ” her voice stuttered only slightly, and she willed it back to a steady whisper _, “you’re not alone, never, I’m here…I won’t ever leave you. I just…need you to breathe in and out and focus on healing.”_

After a few long terrifying seconds, the angel could feel Crowley began to follow her instruction; his breathing steadying along with the rhythm she provided him, she felt his other hand reach up to grip her arm and squeezed with waning strength, but strength nonetheless. She could feel his clenched teeth, his anguished scowl, bury deeper into her warmth with a weak nod.

“…’kay-okay _,”_ Crowley gulped in air hungrily and swallowed thickly with shuttered breaths.

 _“That’s it, my dear, my brave, dashing serpent, you’re so strong. It’s almost over. You’re doing so well, Crowley…just a little more.”_ Aziraphale rocked softly as she cradled him. It had to hurt, beyond anything she could see he was in so much pain he could barely focus enough attention for a small demonic miracle, but she would carry him through the rest of the way regardless of the weight.

Crowley let out another burst of quick breaths through his nose, and Aziraphale felt her skin prickle with the familiar energy of a demonic miracle taking over, like warm static the air condensed before it faded as quick as it had been there, leaving the room in a silent stillness.

The demon’s hands over hers were weak from exhaustion, but strong enough to keep a firm grip on her and when his tremors subsided to weak vibrations the angel opened her eyes to fix a cautious stare toward the grizzly gunshot wound.

So much blood; a small pool around Crowley’s side stained the rug beneath a dark red, splatters adorning the now unmarred flesh visible behind shredded clothing the only hint that a wound had been present moments prior. Gleaming like marbles in the blood-soaked rug were small round bullets most likely the ones that had been lodged deep into his shredded internal organs.

They did it. The surge of relief was almost overwhelming enough to make the angel lightheaded, but she set her jaw firmly and swallowed down another powerful urge to sob and chose to instead blink down to see Crowley’s face. The lively tan shade of his complexion was coming back, yet she froze when his tired half-lidded yellow eyes stared up at her with a soft expression she had never seen before. He looked as though he were staring up at the face of God—no, not God, more like Salvation from the mesmerized eyes of a damned soul seeing Love for the first time.

The hand clenched around her arm released, and she felt the warm palm of his hand against one side of her cold face, to which she welcomed greatly with a soft nuzzle, allowing a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like eternity.

With his head still cradled in her lap, he relaxed himself against her soft body with a ghost of the same smile she was giving him.

“…thank you, Angel.” Life was returning to him with the way his voice increased in strength; more certain, firm, and substantially more beautiful a sound than the broken agony it was only minutes ago.

Tears pooled and slid down her long lashes to splash across Crowley’s cheekbones now flush with spirit, because of course it was, she didn’t doubt for a second her brave demon would find her through the darkness. Her smile quivered as the sob she fought hard to contain finally broke through to hitch her shoulders.

“Oh, _Crowley_.” Aziraphale wept, and though it may have sounded sad there was no noise or word that existed which could express the happiness in her heart knowing he was okay now. To consider them safe was a farfetched belief, but they were okay now; they were together again and Aziraphale never felt more complete, more sound of being than when she was with Crowley.

He waited silently in understanding as she continued to weep for the both of them, distantly acknowledging the relief around her chafed wrists when he destroyed the ichor-coated twine, and as she threw her arms around his lean frame he joined her when he shifted himself into a half-sitting position against her, and at the same time pulled her face down delicately until their lips met.

Nothing compared, not the fresh smell after a spring rain, or a warm coat in the dead of winter, nothing could match the rapturous intensity of their kiss. It felt new, somehow, and fresh, and it promised wonderful things for them both.

They were going to be okay. They would see this through together.

When the universe finally pulled them apart, Crowley fluttered his eyes open to chase Aziraphale’s looking for firm ground for what he was about to say next.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered with the most severe credence she had ever heard from her demon, “…we need to kill him.” Silly demon, she thought but wouldn’t dare say. He didn’t need to go through all that wily charming trouble for her.

She nodded and replied with equal amount of credence, “temptation accomplished.”

-:-

The storm was at full rage; rain pelted the impenetrable old stone of the castle roof, the wind howling through the driven rain past the gargoyles perched high on their pillared graves. Standing on one bare ledge between the statues standing just as still, Alphaeus lost himself to the wonderment of what his black eyes had just seen.

If the streaks down his face were tears or rain, it made no difference to him as his heart felt rich and full.

“ _Beautiful_.” Alphaeus nearly sobbed, so quietly he only registered the word from the movement of his lips. Ecstasy prickled his skin and every hair on his body raised with it. Whatever kind of God had blessed him with such a generous gift, he would worship them for the rest of his indefinite immortal life.

Oh, his beautiful snake moved like the deadly velocity of his bullets, although not _as_ fast was just the perfect amount of speed Alphaeus loved. And just when he thought nothing could overjoy him more—

“That wingspan!” He shouted excitedly into the fury of the storm. Like a roll of film, the way those massive black wings expanded across the night sky like an enormous crow. How they fought against the gusting winds to save an angel, the dramatic irony of it all was far beyond what he could have ever imagined.

Shotgun sitting idle across his broad shoulders, he put his other hand to his waist and stood like a true proud hunter, nearly twitching with anticipation of his next act.

“What a world….,” he breathed it in, rain and all, and exhaled powerfully. “…an angel _and_ a demon, huh?” He pondered to himself. “Mm, I wonder if they have any idea….”

There was no real treasure in this world like _rare_ ones only found once in a lifetime. Those were his favorite kind of catch.

This was it. This was his time.

“Your Grace.” Came the monotone shout from behind him. Slowly, Alphaeus turned with a swivel of his hips to watch the soaked solid form of Protz. The Duke snorted, “I see you finally managed to straighten yourself out,” that never got old, “perfect timing, old boy.” Like a spry young boy, he hopped merrily from his stone perch to march happily past his butler.

“Your Grace, shall I go after them—”

“No! No, no, dear Protz, no.” Alphaeus tutted with a playful wag of one long finger and a cheeky smile.

“Leave them to me. We will have a plentiful variety of game roaming about these halls tonight. Come, Protz! Let us hunt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mY hEARt (╥﹏╥) 
> 
> okay, we'll put the angst on the backburner for a little while for a soft rolling boil for some piping hot BAMF and romance ahead, sprinkled with some humor, and more deranged psycho mommy issues to come! Let me know what you think, as always I love reading the comments and thank you for reading!


	22. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omgggg you guys *ugly crying* all the comments from last chapter were amazing. More wonderful fanart from Chai_Muffin, long detailed comments that just melted my heart to pieces (the memorable quote mentions, the in-depth questions!) ≧❂◡❂≦ and comments from some new names, my heart is ALIVE with feels. Seriously, thank you all for leaving comments, kudos, bookmarks, and just sharing with me your opinions!
> 
> Because of all the heart-wrenching angst I put y'all through last chapter, I thought this interim might help sooth the heart ache a little. We're finally approaching the final arc of the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: not much in this one, actually lol unless you count the flirtatious dynamic of our favorite ethereal duo then yes of course strong warnings everywhere. oh, and typos lol

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“…what in Satan’s unholy name are you wearing?”

Watching a demon miracle broken glass back to a functional window via pointing instructions at the obedient shards should not have been as distracting as it was currently, and Aziraphale almost missed the question entirely in favor of Crowley waving his hands around like a symphony conductor. When he turned to her with a curious up-and-down glance from the corner of one yellow eye, the angel blinked down at herself and grimaced dispassionately, returning his curious look with a pleading one of her own.

“Nothing of my own choosing, I can assure you.” She wanted to re-adjust the garment strictly out of a subconscious habit, but the form-fitting lace material gave no leeway for such and left the self-conscious blond to squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny of her demon, who only raised a brow in growing curiosity. She quickly elaborated. “It seems our mutual adversary struggles with unhealthy attachments to his departed mother.”

“A real charmer, that one.” Crowley flatlined sarcastically.

Aziraphale nodded. “Quite.” Instead of a re-adjustment, she rubbed the flat of her palms down the length of the dress awkwardly. “Apparently, forcing someone into matrimony is not complete without adorning them in their deceased mother’s gown first—”

“—but of course.” Crowley nodded. “Priorities, and all.”

“Mm, yes.” Aziraphale agreed. “Would much rather that distasteful garb Charlotte insisted I wear to the party the other night. I really should change my outfit to something more appropriate.”

“Yes, there is that alternative.” The demon supplied thoughtfully, the last wayward shard of glass mending itself perfectly into the windowpane.

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “Oh, if only I had my powers to do so. Without it, I will have to undress and seek out a replacement somewhere….” From where she stood near Crowley, her bare feet safely out of the way of the broken glass while he finished repairing the window, stepped a little closer to the demon and twirled a long blond curl around her finger innocently.

“Sounds like a real chore.” Crowley remarked offhandedly, though the smirk was evident in his tone.

“It really is. And with how tight this dress is, taking it off will be quite a slow and challenging feat.” She wiggled slightly, lowering her head so she could look up at her tall demon through long lashes batting suggestively as she did so.

“Sounds like it.” The demon cleared his throat, full attention now directed at her and not missing the suggestive look at all.

“Shame, really…,” the angel sighed again, this time with practiced forlorn, “that there is no other alternative…no _intervention_ of the _ethereal_ variety which could assist me in my time of need.” She waited patiently, fixing her now squirming serpent with an expectant stare. If she tried to hold back the way her blue eyes rounded to exaggerate false innocence, then there was simply no helping her demon if he couldn’t tell the attempt was made.

Like some Pavlovian response to her actions, Crowley advanced toward her with well-placed steps, his movements timed and languid as he circled around her from behind all the while scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes and a sympathetic pout. Aziraphale stood still and quietly waited for him to appear from the other side until he stopped directly in front of her, his tall stature almost towering over her by a good foot in height. He was so close, standing only inches away, and the lack of distance was enticingly intimate.

Aziraphale glanced up lovingly past her lashes and beamed sweetly at her demon, watching as his pout struggled to remain strong as a playful smirk fought for dominance across his handsome features.

“Well,” Crowley finally spoke; tone heavy and thick, “that certainly would be helpful to you.”

“Indeed, it would be.”

Both angel and demon waited in compatible silence locked in a battle of admission and submission to the other, only a breath apart and the thought of how close they were was maddening for the angel. Judging by the way her demon inhaled deep and exhaled shakily, the feeling was mutual.

Crowley clicked his tongue at Aziraphale’s plight and shook his head with mock regret. “Looks like you’re out luck on this one, Angel.” He shrugged. “Gonna have to strip down to your skivvies—”

“Foul lecher,” Aziraphale grumbled primly with a small half-hearted swat of her hand to her demon’s lean chest, pouting cutely when Crowley’s perverted fang-toothed grin proved her right. Now pushing past intimate to practically fit his lean frame against her soft curves, she welcomed his two nimble fingers gently lifting her head up by the soft skin under her chin, so their eyes met without any angle or distraction.

“You like it.” Crowley purred, and she felt the enticing rumble of his voice against her lips before he covered them in a warm kiss. A small shiver was her only comeback, following it up with a sweet little hum against his mouth.

When they pulled away with mutual effort the red headed demon raised his head to give her forehead a small peck; one that would have normally been only an affectionate sentiment was much more than first thought as the demonic miracle he kissed into her skin traveled down her body like warm water from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Aziraphale could feel her blond hair move on its own for half a second and trusted her demon’s fashion sense enough to give her a flattering appearance.

Crowley stepped back to admire his work with an appreciative up-and-down stare, smirk playful and wide as he snorted haughtily, “not my best work in such a time crunch, but I trust you'll pull it off _nicely_.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely, my dear….” Aziraphale glanced down at herself to inspect his handiwork, admiring the way he knew her taste almost better than herself; a little more lavish than a regular maids outfit if the additional layers of powder blue and crème beige fabric had anything to say about it—she stopped and lifted her head up to give Crowley a pointed stare. “Little black snake patterns on crème and blue? Really?”

“It’s subtle enough not to be conspicuous.”

“You're positive tartan was not a better alternative?” The angel rolled her eyes at his disgruntled hiss. “You and that stubborn streak of yours.” She finally relented with an appreciative wiggle to adjust her assets in the new dress; one hand lifted to pat her styled hair bun approvingly, nearly giggling at the new pair of snake-shaped barrettes replacing the old pearl ones. “It’ll do nicely. Thank you, my dear.”

“Ngh…would have preferred watching you undress.” Crowley’s sigh threw his head back in a dramatic display of petulance at the same time his long hands reached the junctions of her pale shoulders between the collar of the dress and the curve of her neck, the length of his skillful fingers kneading soft motions into the muscles there.

“Later, my dear.” Aziraphale tutted gingerly, shrugging one shoulder close to bend her head and plant a small kiss against his knuckles. “After we’ve ridden ourselves of this whole mess—”

On the other side of the empty bedroom they were occupying, a noise sounded from inside the double-door coat closet.

Aziraphale gasped and peeked her head around her demon to investigate.

Crowley, who’s irritated snarl confirmed the angel’s suspicions that his level of tolerance was now non-existent after certain prior events, wrenched his arm to the side and snapped hard enough to echo across the room and immediately the doors threw themselves open. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the doors obeyed the snap, or fearfully acted on their own accord because of the demon’s irate snarl.

“Show yourself before I do it for you.” Crowley rounded on the closet and growled through clenched teeth, advancing slowly toward the area with shoulders set and body posed in a threatening manner.

It took all but two seconds before a panicked flail of limbs and a frightened yelp sailed out of the darkness of the closet to land roughly on palms and knees only feet away from where Crowley and Aziraphale stood. Taking one look at the shivering young man’s large fearful eyes reflecting what little light was provided in the room from the window, it was obvious this man was no more a threat to them than a new witchfinder in training.

Both beings blinked down and gave the trembling hunched figure a mutually deadpan expression.

“Please don’t kill us!” The man bowed low until his forehead touched the rug, then raised his neck up to show an impressively terrified cry. “We won’t tell anyone what we saw! Promise! Swear, even! Swear on our lives! Which, erh, we don’t want you to take, obviously, and would really prefer you didn’t—!”

“Stop babbling.” Crowley hissed, clearly agitated with just how quick he reached up to massage the bridge of his nose. “Giving me a headache, you are.”

“Oh, merciful God, please don’t kill me—I-I have things! Nice things! See?!” In a panicked hurry, the man threw a silver wristwatch in the space between them. Crowley stared down at the watch and opened his mouth only to close it when the watch was accompanied by a gleaming pair of cufflinks, a pinky ring, and a metal family crest.

Aziraphale almost felt sorry for the poor creature; he was really trying.

“Take them!” The man cried, his neck-length dark hair flowing undignified at all the bowing he was doing. The poor man was practically headbutting the rug. “Take everything, evil mercenary! You want my clothes? You can have—!”

“For _Heaven’s_ sake, you idiot!” Crowley growled, throwing his hands out in exasperation. “Have some dignity and stop throwing accessories at us.” He looked as though he were about to lunge forward and lift the man up himself. Aziraphale nudged a gentle hand into her demon’s back and whispered, “easy, dear. The poor thing is frightened.”

“Frighteningly annoying.” Crowley retorted over his shoulder, lip twitching into a scowl. “Oi, we’re not going to kill you, but do yourself a favor and stop tempting it.” He folded his long arms over his chest to appear more hulking a presence over the cowering man. “And what do you mean _we_?”

The man winced at the question, which was soon corrected when the wince deepened as a new voice rang out from the shadowy depths of the closet, high pitched and more annoyed than Crowley.

“So much for a valiant protector.” A young woman stepped out from the closet, hands holding the fluff of her dress above her ankles as she stepped forward and around the cowering man. In the dark her hair color was hard to distinguish if whether brown or black, but it was clearly frazzled and sticking out in odd directions. Her heart-shaped face pinched with irritation, she threw a soft kick into the man’s side and huffed. “Get up, John. If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it by now.”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, mouthing _oddballs_ to her. He was not wrong, but there was no need to be nasty. She shook her head and mouthed back, _be nice._ He grunted at the last word, but didn’t argue and instead turned back to the two humans with an impressive eye-roll.

Aziraphale stepped forward to stand next to Crowley and rested her hands together against her middle in a polite fashion. “Um,” she quickly had the attention of both humans, “how long have you two been there?”

“Enough to see too much!” The man, John from what the woman called him, cried out as he tried to stand. “Which, we promise not to say anything at all, not a peep not a whisper not a—”

“Ahh-nuh-uh, no, no more out of you.” Crowley pointed a seething finger at him.

“Shut up, John.” The woman hissed and turned to Aziraphale with a respectful nod. “To answer your question, mum…we’ve been here since before you two came in through the shattered window.” She gestured an open hand to said window. “…which is not shattered anymore…,” she shifted uncomfortably, “…which we saw that, too.” Even in the dark room, her blush was visible and also an embarrassing reminder of what they saw happen in this room earlier.

“Lovely.” Aziraphale sighed and rubbed a tired hand against her face. Whatever headache her serpent had was now crawling into the space behind her eyes.

“Marilyn, please! You’re upsetting them!” John whined as he wrapped two hands around her arm and tugged helplessly, which earned him quite a few annoyed looks.

“ _You’re_ upsetting us.” Crowley snapped back, a blush creeping up his sharp cheekbones that Aziraphale couldn’t help but smirk at in knowing her serpent had been caught being _sweet_ and _loving_. She would have to pick on him about it on a later occasion.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the angel inquired softly, “putting aside everything you’ve just seen for a moment, would you mind telling us why you both are hiding here and not in hiding with the remaining guests?”

The human’s glanced at each other with a dreadful expression, and it told an equally dreadful truth unbeknownst to the angel and demon. John broke their worried glance first to speak somberly through tight lips. “You’ve been away for a while, haven’t you?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Crowley tensed under the angel’s hand still gently placed on the dip of his back, her fingers rotating soothing circles against the fabric of his vest. She knew she spoke for the both of them when she wished with everything beyond her might if they could just go a single hour without fighting for their lives or hearing discouragingly awful news, they may actually be able to make some damn progress.

John inched back behind the young woman, and Crowley would have to add another tally to the number of humans officially scared of him.

Marilyn continued sadly while barely hiding her eye roll directed at her companion. “We’ve been in that closet for over an hour now, after things got out of hand.” She blinked up at Crowley’s twitching face and Aziraphale’s worried stare, and something akin to guilt flashed across her face. She shifted uneasily.

“They said we would be safe there!” Marilyn suddenly blurted out defensively, to whom she felt defensive against remained a mystery. “So, just as people let their guards down…,” she swallowed thickly, casting a distant stare into nothing in the room around them.

Suddenly, the young human woman closed her eyes and shook her head. “It was so fast, no one knew what to do, so…people scattered—”

Crowley was in front of them no sooner than Aziraphale registered his presence had shifted, and with a startled gasp watched his tall body lean over the two humans currently frozen in fear after a unison of terrified yelps.

“My dear,” Aziraphale called out, hand slowly reaching up to beckon him back only to stop when she heard the dangerously low hiss from her demon. No tolerance was an understatement, she thought. Crowley was one bit of bad news away from unhinging.

“ _What happened to the children?”_ To these humans, Crowley must have sounded like the devil himself. Probably looked like him, too.

John cried first, and after several terrified sputters, Marilyn managed to squeak.

“We…we d-didn’t really stay long to—”

“You _left_ them?!”

Oh, dear. As lovely as her demon’s scales were, the human's petrified faces argued otherwise. Even still, the angel stood back and watched.

“No!” Marilyn cried, shaking her head hard enough for her neck to snap, hands gripping John’s and making quite the groveling picture. “Well, they-we, you have to understand!”

“ _Zip it!”_ With a snap of demon fingers, both John and Marilyn’s face melted into a dazed obedient stare forward at what could only be a blank slate. If Aziraphale had a watch, she would have timed it.

“A new record.” She sighed and tutted at the same time, walking forward to side-eye Crowley with a disapproving look. “I was more worried you would have tempted them to jump out the window first.”

Crowley matched her look with a fussy one of his own. “Don’t start with me; they were annoying, and you know it.”

Let it never be argued that silence was a valid option in every conversation, and it did not mean defeat; rather, a prideful unspoken acknowledgement of agreements. Shrugging him off, Aziraphale kept walking until she was as close to them as the demon and stopped, smiling sweetly at each of their hypnotized faces in an attempt to shed some sincerity upon the situation with a dash of patience.

But only a dash, because if these humans didn’t provide them a sufficient enough answer as to the children’s wellbeing then so help her, even Crowley wouldn’t be strong enough to stop the catastrophic scolding she had lying in wait for these two.

“Ah…so here we are,” Aziraphale started equal parts tender and awkward, “…I’ll start over. See, my friend and I have been a little indisposed for the past couple of hours, and we would be so very appreciative if you told us exactly what happened and for goodness sake, please be brief yet very detailed. Time is of the upmost importance, you two—”

“—yes, I agree. Any day now, Angel.”

A swift little jab of the elbow dead-centered at the exposed tan skin of his abdomen just beyond the tattered hole of his vest –where a certain gunshot wound no longer existed– hushed him up, not before she heard a hissed, “ _ngk! Heartless little—”_

“—so start talking you two.”

And so they did, and with every monotone syllable through spit-bubbled lips the demon and angel listened, and the more they listened the larger their reports back to head office would get.

If Aziraphale’s head spun with all the knowledge, she could only sympathize for her poor serpent. Phrases like, “no one expected the old man in the wheelchair to turn first, and no one expected his legs to move that fast,” wrapped around others such as, “one kid managed to break the leg off a chair, and the arms on that kid when he started swinging,” were choked by more worrisome comments like, “once the children ran off, some of the staff barricaded the entryway to hold the monsters off so the children could get away,” and finally the angel decided she’d heard enough.

“That’s quite enough!” Aziraphale massaged her temples with two fingers on each side, mouth forming an o before letting out a high-pitched groan. Crowley gargled a bit of nonsensical sounds from his throat before grabbing John by his arms.

“So, the children ran off? Together? Do you know where? How many? Do you know where they’re headed?!”

“Crowley stop shaking the poor boy or else you’ll knock something loose. He’s already a few bolts short as it is.” Aziraphale fussed and swatted the demon’s hands away.

“They followed the boy.” Marilyn droned the words together.

“What boy?” Crowley asked.

“The boy swinging the table leg.” John answered with a tone similar to his companions.

“ _What boy?”_ Crowley gnashed his teeth together.

“The boy who led the children out through the hidden door in the wall.”

 _“WHAT BO—!_ ” Aziraphale muffled Crowley’s squawk with her palm, pushing into his personal space and placing herself between him and the hypnotized humans despite the serpent’s indignant hiss against her skin. “For goodness sake, Crowley—John, my dear, what did the boy swinging the table leg who led the children away look like?”

John stared forward, and the angel distantly wondered if Crowley allowed them enough Free Will to blink properly or at all. After a few seconds, John opened his mouth and answered. “He wore a dark blue sailor’s jacket. Same colored shorts. Skinny, maybe ten or so age wise—”

Aziraphale and Crowley interrupted him with simultaneous cries of joy.

“Charlie!”

“ _Mmmph!”_

The angel’s hand was gripped in her demon’s larger one and yanked it away from his mouth but held it close and firmly clutched. His eyes were impossibly round and almost entirely serpent instead of human.

“Frail human man,” Crowley twitched in that way he did when anxiety and excitement battled for dominance under his skin, “did you see the doctor come back? Was he carrying a little girl with him, did you see them?”

John paused with a slack jawed face. At least he finally blinked. “…doctor.”

“Yes! Copper. The _doctor.._.?”

“…who?”

“Arrrrgh!” Crowley whipped his head back and let out a pained howl. Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “John, the only doctor in this castle; barstool mustache, glasses, questionably clever…?”

John opened his mouth again, silence dragging on before he replied, “…the secret man.”

Aziraphale tilted her head in confusion, and Crowley whipped his forward so fast his neck popped.

“Uh,” it was the angel’s turn to open-mouth stare, “…secret man?”

“Yes.” Marilyn answered suddenly, catching their attention instantly. “Undercover military man. He punched Gerald. We never saw him come back.”

“Oh, dear….” Aziraphale’s heart constricted painfully in her chest, causing her to place a calming hand above it. “Crowley, we need to go find Copper and Maurielle—”

“Now hold on just a damn second.” Crowley started, and how someone could appear appalled, hurt, and befuddled at the same time was only a feat the Serpent of Eden could achieve.

“ _Undercover military man_? Thaddeus?” If her demon was asking the humans or himself, it was impossible to distinguish.

“You’ll have to hold on to that inquiry, my dear.” Aziraphale’s hand left her chest to cup the taller being’s sharp jaw to sooth away the odd expression with her thumb. “We need to find Copper and Maurielle and see if we can track down Charlie and the other children.” With a slow blink back to their grim reality, Crowley nodded against her hand quietly.

Aziraphale turned on the flat of her heel toward the door. “My dear boy, please kindly give them back their Free Will, but do make sure not to forget asking them to lead us back to the servant’s quarters. We will start there first!” She didn’t turn around to entertain her demon when she heard the sputtering scoff he threw at her.

“ _Yes_ , yes of course, Madam Bossy. Right away, your highness.” When she threw a look over her shoulder, he was already barking orders at John and Marilyn.

“Alright, listen up, you two!” Both humans straightened like soldiers, and Crowley ate it up with a proud hands-on-hips stance. “You didn’t see anything out of the normal—” he paused, patted a few pockets until he produced a backup pair of dark spectacles, and fitted them over his eyes before resuming his earlier posture, “—no wings, no broken glass, just two regular humans, Miss Fell and myself, who happened to walk in on you two cowards sharing your last night together sucking faces.”

He leaned closer and finished his command with a low hiss. “You will lead us back to the servant’s quarters and show us where it all happened. And you will decide no more being puny little cowards and valiantly help us find the children and bring them to safety. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Both John and Marilyn shouted. Crowley leaned back and gave them a satisfied nod. “Very well.” With a snap, the human’s eyelids spasmed as if they had not blinked for years and swiveled their heads around like lost baby owls.

John recovered first with a startling cry. “The children!” He exchanged glances with all three people in the room looking at him with equal curiosity. “What are we doing just standing here?! The children need us!” He turned on Marilyn with a judgmental frown.

“Lovely snog session, Marilyn, but it will have to wait!”

“We what?” Marilyn chirped, eyes growing round like the lost baby owl she was.

“Come, My Lord! Miss Maid-I forgot your name, sorry- I will lead the way!” With a heroic pose toward the door, John marched forward and passed a pleasantly shocked Aziraphale, soon followed by the hasty shuffle of the other woman, only to be nudged forward by her cunningly clever demon.

“Am I great, or am I great?” Crowley, the smug old serpent, smirked bright enough to blind an angel made of heavenly light, and slithered around her in that exaggerated hippy way of his, swaying his tall frame in such a way…the one he knew damn well drove the angel nuts in all the right ways.

“What the _hell_ did you do to them?”

“Exactly, ‘nuff said.” Crowley winked, his top hat materializing into his hand out of nowhere to land perfectly on his dark red head because of course he did, her dazzlingly flashy bastard never passed up a chance to look cool in front of her.

Her cool, clever, confident serpent thinking he was bigger than his britches just then made Aziraphale entertain only a few of the many deviant ideas she couldn’t wait to show him when she was back in her male body—

Unfortunately for Aziraphale, her prurient plotting would have to wait much later after their long trek through the dangerous halls of the castle; at that moment the stagnant air in the hallway and seemingly everywhere beyond in both directions shattered under the intensity of blaring instruments. It was like being in a music hall, or opera house in mid performance.

It was everywhere, distant in echo and yet a breath’s kiss from the angel’s ears the music erupted startled gasps from John and Marilyn, and a pained hiss from Crowley.

“What in _Sssatan’s_ name is that?!” Losing his cool in a matter of seconds, the tall demon clamped palms over his ears and when he tried to exchange an equally confused glance with Aziraphale, his brows shot up in concern at the terror he must have seen filling her blue eyes.

_“~Was mir behagt~,”_  
  
“~Ist nur die muntre Jagd~!”

“Angel?” Just over Diana’s blaring soprano, Aziraphale could hear Crowley call out to her in a chilling voice. “What’s wrong?”

The past several hours rewound to play in a repetitive fashion across her memory’s eye, delaying her answer until her demon striding quickly toward her finally snapped away the frightening images. She looked up at him.

“He’s hunting us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! A lot of questionable things just happened!
> 
> Let me just say, some of your comments wondering if Charlie was okay melted my heart so I hope you enjoyed that brief mention. We'll see Charlie again soon ;3 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed! Let me know what you think, or if you see a typo that must be addressed haha I don't mind at all! Thank you for reading!


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to Chai_Muffin and tarpiteyes for their amazing fanarts!! Chai_Muffin's amazing artwork can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344668/chapters/58703347. It was just earlier today that tarpiteyes showed me their AMAZING fanart of a scene from last chapter on Tumblr. I don't have the direct link (yet :3) however you can check out tarpiteyes' other posts here: https://tarpiteyes.tumblr.com/ And thank you all for your amazing comments, kudos, and bookmarks. This fandom is the best!
> 
> Special shout out to 1yr Anniversary of the Good Omens television adaptation. <3 Around this year today my heart was thrusted into one of the most amazing, caring, thoughtful, unique fandoms I've ever had the pleasure of being apart of. And with the love and support of Neil Gaiman (and in loving memory of Sir Terry Pratchett) and the brilliant casting, an amazing book was brought to life and it touched so many. This book, this show, it resonates with me during these trying times. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mild violence and descriptions of gore. spooky stuff, use of tobacco just throwing that out there too. And sorry for any typos! Feel free to point out any, I try to fix any that I see if overlooked during revision.
> 
> Crowley's POV. Fluff, feels, and plot heavy moments. Enjoy!

“You know, once you get past the absolute terror, it’s quite a catchy song.” John said for the third time when he took the last two silent responses to his comments as simply not being heard, which was not the case.

“Shut up, John.” Both Crowley and Marilyn said, side-eying each other approvingly as they did so.

There was not a room the music did not reach, not a hallway or corridor unscathed by the thundering opera of Bach’s Hunting Cantata. And it drove Crowley absolutely mad, which was probably the point but nevertheless, if one needed a perfect example of overkill this was definitely a perfect example of such.

Leave it to someone like Alphaeus Gastrell to fill the castle with gramophones blasting his favorite composition over, and over, _and over_ again. The irony spoke in volumes of the Duke’s insanity. And somewhere, amid these dangerous halls lurking feral cannibalistic humans and deafening opera, that psychopath was also lurking around with his creepy butler wielding an enhanced shotgun and having the time of his life.

Speaking of; like some coincidence all too eerily-well timed, cracks of shots fired echoed through the halls in front of the small group of four from somewhere in the distance, yet alarmingly close enough to stop them in their tracks with wary expressions.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, exchanging a knowing look. The young human woman stood rigidly, swiveling her head to confirm the looks around her most likely giving herself confirmation she was not the only one hearing it.

John, on the other hand, who strode bravely ahead of the troop was now taking hesitant steps back, scratching his head as he did so. “Eh…maybe we should go the other way?” He pitched, which swiftly fell on deaf ears.

Aziraphale was the first to march forward head-on in the direction of the gunshots. She wagged a finger at the young man. “Unless you know another path to the servant’s quarters, dear boy, we will just have to butt-in and deal with it!”

“ _Buck-up_ , Angel. It’s _buck-up_ and deal with it.” Crowley corrected her flatly, watching in mild amusement as she retained the correction with a quiet nod.

“Aw, so sweet. What a lovely little endearment.” Marilyn swooned a little and threw a quick pouty glare at her oblivious human companion. “Some men should take a page from that book.”

“M’not _sweet_.” Crowley retorted disgustedly.

“He’s very sweet.” Aziraphale instigated, clearly ignoring the demon’s growing scowl.

The small banter, however annoying at times, was ultimately relieving given the state of the world around them. Even Crowley could admit it was a pleasant distraction from the festering dread curling his stomach for the past few hours, or few days. Time had been blurring more and more as of lately.

But like every refreshing breather, it was short lived.

Both lost in different realms inside their respective minds, Crowley and Aziraphale strolled past John and Marilyn without much thought as to why they suddenly stopped walking. And perhaps they had said something or motioned in a way that urged them to stop. If they did, it was much too late.

The end of the hallway opened to the extravagantly large entry hall of the first level where only a few days ago seemed welcoming with new faces excited for a spoiled lavish holiday courtesy of their wealthy not-insane-at-all host. Where delicious smells of refreshments had once lingered, where walls decorated in welcoming banners, were now a grave of what once was.

And in that grave held a rotten stench laying stagnantly in the musty air lingering between bright gas-lamps. No sooner had Crowley scrunched his nose at the awful smell as they stepped into the entry hall from the protective shadows of their path, his shaded eyes suddenly could not count the many mindless ghouls wandering across the wide area; a chorus of off-key moans and gurgles joined the boisterous symphony, blood and tattered clothing adorned sluggish bodies nearly stumbling around in a foggy-eyed daze. 

The seriousness of their new environment settled in heavy and dreadful when the demon snapped out of his thoughts by a quiet gasp of fright from his left, his head whirling around to see Aziraphale looking on in wide-eyed horror, hands covering her mouth to muffle the volume of her voice or to keep from vomiting he wasn’t quite certain.

Now as vulnerable as a human, Aziraphale could not protect herself as she normally would, and Crowley almost cursed himself at how easy that fact past him by just now. There was no time to get lost in thought now, not when his angel was left exposed to more dangerous threats.

Before he could grab his angel and throw her back into the safety of the darkness behind them, two hands shot out from the shadows, one calloused hand finding purchase over Crowley’s mouth as the other mimicked over Aziraphale’s. With impressive strength, they were both hauled backward almost losing their balance at the force.

Johns cowardly face flashed across Crowley’s mind, because _no human_ would be so brave to grab him and his angel in such a manner, they would have to be completely dimwitted. He whirled back with an insidious sneer ready for spatting, which he promptly swallowed down when instead of staring at scared eyes he was met with hard, analytical hazel eyes behind scratched lenses.

The demon blanched. “Copper—?” And was immediately silenced, whether from the disheveled appearance on the usual clean-cut man, or the way he held the metal barrel of the Colt Action against his lips with a quiet shush, both were equal enough to stun Crowley.

From over the doctor’s shoulder where Aziraphale stood, he watched Marilyn and John rush to a door-shaped opening in the wall, as if he had miracled it into existence, only to realize their luck had graced them with a hidden room to seek refuge.

Crowley twitched his shoulders. “Huh…clever—”

“I suggest we not stay here long,” Copper whispered, looking more weathered than Crowley had ever see the man. The dried brown splatter stains on his wrinkled button-down shirt, not to mention the few dried splotches adorning one side of his face, was a dead give-away to the probable cause for his exhausted state. The doctor continued, “the shadows can only hide us so much—”

The crack of a gun—no, Crowley knew better this time; it was the familiar booming power of a shotgun, sounded close enough to ring ears and stun everyone left in the dark hallway. A whispered trail of curses ripped from the doctor’s mouth as he crouched low out of sheer instinct. “ _Shit_ , was afraid of this…he’s coming this way.”

There was no time to think, no time to run, only hide. Crowley spotted Aziraphale shutting the entrance to the hidden room and wanted nothing more than to snarl at the angel for not joining the others in the room. If she could see his eyes right now, they would be seething with a _what the hell are you thinking, you idiot?!_ and knew well he had no time to act it out when the doctor’s strong hand gripped his shoulder and bodily forced him against one side of the wall.

“ _Down! Get down!”_ Thaddeus snarled as he followed Crowley down to crouch along one side of the wall, flattening his body as close as possible. He waved a frantic arm to Aziraphale to do the same against the opposite wall with expert hand motions, as if using some sort of sign language one would use on their soldiers and certainly nothing neither him or the angel would understand specifically, yet enough to understand what _stay out of sight_ meant.

Just beyond the gas-lamp’s light, the three crouched low against the ground in the darkest part of the shadows. It was sufficient, with the exception that should anyone decide to move would easily risk exposing their position.

Crowley listened; _really_ listened. His enhanced hearing picked up several odd noises that, if anyone had told him a mere few weeks ago that he would be hearing these types of sounds all overlapping one another in a jumbled mess, he would have laughed at them.

Beyond the opera, his own thumping heartbeat as well as his angel’s and the doctor next to him, the gurgled cries of the wandering ghouls in the entry hall was a haunting sound, accompanied by laughter somewhere in the distance swiftly approaching. These were no laughs of a person turned mad by the trauma of what they were witnessing, these were the deranged cackles of a madman who caused said traumas.

Yet, the most unexpected and startling noise Crowley picked up were the galloping clops of hooves. Horse hooves, more specifically.

It was all happening so fast, and suddenly as the noises grew impossibly louder a hulking shadow covered what remaining light was given to the hallway. The helpful addition veiled them fortunately, but unfortunately the owners of the shadows were now coming to a steady halt right in front of them.

The presence of a horse in the castle was far from an orthodox sight, but not enough to freeze Crowley’s heart mid-beat. Rather, the familiar midnight coat of the gigantic beast in addition to the smoke which billowed from flared nostrils managed to turn the demon’s heart to ice.

One of the Hell Horses from his carriage. Disloyal beasts, with their shifty eyes and better-than-you attitude, Crowley was right not to trust them.

Perched upon the massive body of the traitorous mammal was no other than Alphaeus Gastrell. In all his megalomaniac glory, he sat straight and broad like a proud general about to rush into battle. It may have been the horse which gave that illusion, or perhaps it was the horrific knowledge that this deranged monster was strapped to the hilt with firearms. A rainbow of different pistols adorned his torso held snug in the crisscross holster straps, and it did not stop there; a pistol was strapped firmly to his thigh, and another fastened around his shin and calf. A long rifle strapped to his back and another tucked into a holster tied around the Hell Horse’s front haunch just within arm’s length.

But it was the sight of the silver custom made shotgun clutched firmly in one clawed hand as the other gripped the reigns that erupted a phantom pain in Crowley’s abdomen. To be clear, Crowley was no stranger to firearms whether in front of them or behind and did not spend thousands of years on this planet without managing at least one close call with a grazed bullet.

Though, enchanted firearms were an altogether new experience for Crowley. He could still remember the spray of the bullets tearing into his side to ricochet along his organs, and almost shivered at the memory. If he were a lower-level fledging of a demon, he would not have been able to stop the shotgun from hitting it’s destined target between Crowley’s eyes and considered it experience over luck that managed to throw off the trajectory to land a blow to his torso.

The demon would never forget the agonizing pain which followed the shot; a white-hot burn which had blinded him had almost costed him the few crucial seconds he needed to save his angel from a death beyond discorporation, one which did not guarantee he would ever see her again—

A firm hand tugged his shoulder, and it dawned on Crowley that he had been breathing hard through his nose. A quick glance from his peripheral caught the imperceptible shake of Copper’s head in a silent plea to stop. And without hesitation he stopped breathing entirely.

His eyes shifted to Aziraphale, who had hidden herself farther back into the shadows until the only telltale sign of her presence was a silhouette barely visible to the unfocused eye. _Clever lass,_ he thought.

Turning his attention back only with his eyes, Crowley watched Alphaeus grin maliciously ahead of him at the many mindless humans they had seen prior. At any moment, the Duke’s grandiose entrance would pull their attentions toward him in a gathering horde which was the last thing they needed right now.

Surprisingly, the first feral ghoul that rushed the horse was not from the front but from the back. A nameless older man in a rumpled suit Crowley had yet to meet advanced on Alphaeus and his horse hastily, reaching out toward them with fingers bent ready to grab and pull hungrily.

With no alarm or startlement, Alphaeus turned his head inquisitively to watch the man try to nibble on the Hell Horse. Luckily for the horse, its skin was made of obsidian. Unluckily for the ghoul, he’d break his teeth before taking a successful chunk out of the beast. When his attempts failed, the man stumbled closer toward Alphaeus’ leg.

Any normal man would have kicked or shot the monster. Luckily for Alphaeus, he was no longer a normal man. Unluckily for the ghoul, Alphaeus was no longer a normal man.

“Aw, look at you.” The Duke’s sweet coo made Crowley’s insides curdle. With a tender expression, the demented creature let go of the horses’ reigns to ruffle clawed fingers into the older man’s salt-and-pepper colored hair. “You’re a hungry one, aren’t you?” It was like watching someone praise a prized pet dog. The only method to this madness was at least the hand that messed up the human’s hair prevented him from chomping the Duke’s thigh. Even if he got close enough, Crowley doubted Alphaeus would let that happen.

“What are you, a banker? Some shabby door-to-door salesman? You look like a salesman.” Alphaeus conversed with this man as if he were not currently dripping demonic miasma from his mouth along with foaming saliva and instead in a manner better suited for a darling old uncle. “Mm…I’m going to go with salesman.”

One last ruffle of fingers in the man’s hair retracted with a small shove, and in a single fluid motion Alphaeus slung the shotgun forward in both hands and pointed at the base of the feral man’s skull.

Not a single warning, a hesitance, or a quick breath was given before the Duke pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening, and the bright explosions of lights and stars in Crowley’s eyes joined the chorus of ringing in his eardrums. A sudden heavy wet splatter made the demon thankful he could not see yet, and the lifeless thud of a body hitting the ground confirmed the grizzly horror of what did not need to be spoken.

Alphaeus cackled delightfully, and once the serpent demon’s vision cleared, he wished he hadn’t seen the way this monster wiggled in pure joy, his legs kicking excitedly in a manner much too childish for a grown man to pull off.

“I love this thing!” He kissed one long silver barrel and stroked it lovingly. And to add to the growing horror of their predicament, something in the way Alphaeus went rigid suddenly let off warning sirens in Crowley’s brain. _Did someone move? Did he spot them?_ He had the strongest urge to pray just then.

His brain automatically skimmed through a multitude of backup plans to evade the sinister Duke should he spot them, knowing well it would not be a fun reunion. Just as Alphaeus made to turn his head, a screech from somewhere in the entryway whipped his attention forward. Whatever he saw consumed his attention with a playful grin full of sharp teeth, his black eyes growing wide as they locked onto a new target.

“Come here, lovely!” Alphaeus shouted at whoever screeched. “Better yet, I’ll come to you! Ya!” He dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and with a mighty nay the beast displayed an impressive stance on two back legs as it revved it’s front legs into the air before taking off in a gallop. The sound of hysterical laughter, clopping hooves, and more gunshots trailed behind his exit and left the three frozen beings crouched in the darkness.

“Now,” Copper’s hand clenched down on Crowley’s shoulder with unforgiving strength and hauled the lanky man to his feet, “get inside the room. _Now_.” He didn’t have to ask twice. They ran to the hidden door veiled by lavish tapestry, and with a few well-placed knocks the wall shifted open with just enough space for them to slip through.

No sooner than the hidden door was closed, Crowley heard the tiny squeal of a child before he could rationalize they were in a storage room, the portable gas lamp perched upon a stack of crates gave little light to see through yet he was able to make out the gaunt faces of John and Marilyn, as well as the fast approaching ball of crème lace and curly chestnut hair bounding toward Aziraphale with chubby little arms open wide.

“Miss Fell!” Maurielle cried and did not have to run any farther as Aziraphale rushed forward and scooped the girl into a tight embrace against her soft breasts.

“Maurielle! _Oooh_ ,” she squeezed the child impossibly closer with arms wrapped completely around the girls small frame, “it is so good to see you, my sweet darling.” Her voice held more love than the most caring mother, and the sheer tenderness in her tone triggered a symphony of cries from the child.

Maurielle pulled her head back with flushed cheeks now stained with tear-tracks, her enormous blue eyes roaming over her maid’s face as tiny fingers curled into the collar of the angel’s dress like they vowed to never let go.

“Mi-Mi-Miss Fell,” she struggled through powerful hiccups, “I w-was so worried! Nasty old butler, he h-hurt you, a-and I ran! Miss Fell, I ran and ran and ran—”

“I know, dear. I know.” Aziraphale shushed her cries gently, reaching up to cup her puffy cheek lovingly to wipe tears with the pad of her thumb. “And you were so brave! You saved me!”

Maurielle pinched her small brows cutely and pouted, “I-I did not, it was Mr. Crowley who—”

“—and who do you think told Mr. Crowley? Hm?” Aziraphale smiled as the child’s expression brightened at the simple reminder. “My courageous Princess of the Round Table, I never doubted you for a second.” She finished with a small kiss to the child’s forehead, tucked the child’s head in the crook of her neck, and allowed Maurielle to sob her little heart out. Aziraphale rocked her gently.

The loving reunion between Maurielle and her nanny felt like a refreshing wave of relief the inhabitants of the room sorely needed then, and Crowley welcomed the suffocating waves of love that flooded the small storage room. He did, however, need to sit down and process everything going on. The wall met his back thankfully sooner than he’d hoped and he slid down to the floor with legs bent close to his chest, elbows resting on the tops of his knees as he leaned his head back against the rough stone texture behind him not caring if the motion knocked his top hat off to fall next to him.

Copper mimicked him shortly after with a quiet slide to the floor next to him. He let out an exhausted sigh and reached up to pluck the small metal cigarette holder from his breast pocket. Crowley could smell the tobacco smoke soon after and watched the wisps of smoke travel slowly around him, unfazed by the smell. Anything was better than the stench of graveyard soil and rot.

_Undercover military man_ , the words danced in his head to the same beat of the smoke trails. It made him turn his head away, unable to look at Copper for some strange reason the demon could not figure out why.

“Thanks…,” Crowley murmured, thankful he did not have to specify who it was for when Copper nodded with a quiet grunt. “For pulling us back—”

“—he’s been galloping around for the past hour.” Copper interjected, his attention focused entirely elsewhere. Crowley did not have to look at the doctor’s face to know it was taut with tension, he could hear it in the man’s voice. “Crazy bastard,” he swore darkly. Crowley agreed with a silent nod. Copper continued between puffs of his hand-rolled cigarette and as he did his voice seemed to relax somewhat. “Got held up by some of them blocking the other entrance to the servant’s quarters. Tried another way around, and almost ran right into him.” He paused. “Feels like this is the only room that damn music can’t get to.”

Crowley nodded again and held his unfocused stare at Aziraphale still embracing Maurielle. A few minutes passed by, the only sounds other than the child were John and Marilyn having a whispered conversation on the other side of the small room.

Another inhale, a plum of smoke, and an exhale sounded before Copper spoke.

“You’re cross with me.”

Crowley blinked, and this time he turned to look at the doctor with a confused expression. “Am not—” he was cut off by the sharp knowing look Copper fixed him with just over scuffed lenses.

“Nine children, Anthony. _Nine_. Can’t fool this old man, lad.” Damn this brilliant man, he was much too wise for his own good. Crowley suddenly felt like the tenth child just then and quickly shrugged it off to watch Copper turn only to take another long drag of his cigarette.

The serpent shifted a little, uncertain how to begin. Feelings; after thousands of years he was still trying to get the hang of them, especially with anyone other than his angel and he still managed to muck that up on occasion.

He decided to just barrel headfirst into the issue. “…undercover military man,” he mumbled with a nod to John and Marilyn across the room, “s’wot they called you.”

Copper followed the nod to glance quietly at the young man and woman. He reached up with his other hand to smooth fingers over his mustache thoughtfully. “Interesting. Nosy as well as cowardly, those two.” He was not wrong. Now feeling the stares of both man and demon, John and Marilyn flinched and turned away bashfully, and somewhat embarrassed.

“Is it true?” Crowley pushed.

The doctor did not answer right away, but Crowley did not take it as a sign of defiance or indignation. It was contemplative.

Copper finally answered with a firm nod. “In a sense, yes.”

The demon scratched the side of his face just over the tattoo as if the answer made him itch. “Were you ever going to say anything?”

“Not sure why I would have.”

“I dunno, maybe because…,” he sounded like a child and there was no salvaging it, “y’know, friends tell each _other stuff’nall_ …,” the sentence dwindled into mumbled nonsense the more pitiful it sounded.

Copper blanched. “We’re friends?”

First off; ouch. Crowley would feel that sting for a while. And second; he should have known better than to befriend humans. There was always a miserable catch. The demon would consider himself clever enough by average standards, but Aziraphale always did tease him for being more trustworthy than he let on, and it showed in cases like this. Perhaps it was a mistake to consider this man his friend? Maybe he had noticed early on Crowley was not who he said he was and instead of confronting him decided to let him play the poster-boy and punching bag to the other humans while he worked quietly and undisturbed behind the scenes.

So, this was what it was like to feel used? It did not feel great. His left foot began to twitch, and he did not command it to stop.

Crowley exhaled through his nose as his lips pattered out weakly, “…guess not.”

From his peripheral, Crowley noticed the doctor shift slightly toward him with full attention and yet the demon could not tell if the stare he was given was one of judgmental scrutiny or mirthful curiosity.

“Seems a bit one-sided, does it not?” The doctor mused after a steady pause and drag of his cigarette.

Crowley’s foot twitched harder.

Thankfully, Copper continued. “If you consider the loyalty of your friends based off keeping secrets, Anthony, then you may need to reflect on your own.”

_Excuse me?_ It was Crowley’s turn to blanch this time around and whipped his head to match Copper’s amused expression with an indignant one of his own. He wasn’t sure if the growing smirk on the doctor’s wise face was him being pretentious or just genuinely entertained.

“A man that shows up with signs of an obvious gunshot injury and yet no indication of a wound does make one wonder.”

Icy dread settled heavy in the serpent’s chest which felt colder against the hot flush creeping over his skin. Damn, he was supposed to fix the torn area of his clothing. Of course, this man’s hawk-eyes would catch it. What could he say to that?

“Ngk.” That would have to do.

Copper was merciless. “And just before you left to assist Miss Fell, you pulled out a pistol and a hatchet from seemingly nowhere in your cloak….”

“Mghk.”

Just when he thought the doctor was finished, he was clearly not. “A pistol, might I add, with infinite ammunition.”

All the blind spots, and Copper seemed to pinpoint most of them if not all.

Crowley looked desperately to Aziraphale in hopes she was paying attention to their conversation and could supply a wonderful distraction. Unfortunately, her full focus was still on fussing over the little girl in her arms. He was on his own.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Crowley deflected expertly. He shrugged and snorted defensively. “Must have known for a while I was a fake, and you didn’t say anything. You just…let me galivant around for days claiming to be this…” he threw his hands up over his person, “n’you didn’t think for a minute to confront me. Why…?”

_Because it was funny watching you flop around_ , Crowley answered for the doctor in his own self-deprecating fashion. _Because I needed a useful tool and you were the perfect sap for the job._

“Because you did a good job.”

“ _Ngk._ ” Crowley almost choked at the sincerity practically bleeding off every word. Not a trace of sarcasm to be found, this man spoke with confidence and honesty. The demon’s chin wobbled rebelliously, and he swore to Lucifer he would have harsh words with his corporation if it disobeyed him again.

“Anthony,” Copper dropped his tone to a low whisper, as if chiding a little boy for beating himself up for not coming in first place at whatever competition little boys participated in, “you gave me no reason to be wary of you. When it came to making a decision, you thought quick and you made it based off the wellbeing of others.” He shrugged as if to say _what of it_? and leaned just a little to one side while he stroked his mustache again. “All anyone can ask for out of someone in these times—”

“Even if you had to go looking for me a few times.”

That comment earned the demon a soft rumbling chuckle. Copper nodded softly. “Yes, but my work was done. I came here and did what was asked of me. You did not get in the way of that.”

The sting from earlier had gone away during a point in the conversation Crowley did not know. His foot stopped twitching, but the compliments made the demon in him squirm. Only one being in this world could make him squirm under compliments and he would sit through it all like the masochist he was. It was more similar in ways to a risky glass of fine scotch; the pleasant aftertaste did make it worth his while.

Copper’s next words stunned him. “There are a lot of monsters wandering these halls.” An amiable pause followed, then the doctor glanced straight at shaded lenses, unknowingly staring directly into his serpentine eyes.

“I’m not sure what you are, Anthony. But you’re not one of them. And certainly not a monster like _him_.” They both knew who _him_ referred to.

Crowley, now feeling a rush of energy, challenged a dangerous question.

“What do you think I am?”

For short while, Crowley and Copper held their stare. The only movement in that brief span was the narrowing of analytical eyes peering over the metal lining of his spectacles. The serpent swallowed thickly in anticipation.

“A good person.”

_Ack_. Crowley hated four-letter words when phrased like that. He also hated that sometimes he didn’t mind it as much as he led himself to believe.

“Ah’well…thought you were-erg, not that….” Damn, he was blushing a little.

“And a friend.” Now the bastard was just being cheeky. But he meant it, and through the warmth seeping over Crowley’s heart, so did a different kind of stinging. Ah, the whole being a demon thing. There was literally only so much he could take right now.

He tried to nod and instead managed to clear his throat, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks.” Surprisingly, it sounded cooler than Crowley had expected, which happened never.

And just like the type of man he was, Copper would not relent. “And I think that’s why she fancies you so much.” When he nudged his chin to the left without breaking eye contact, Crowley would have known who he was talking about regardless of the nod. “Because she sees it, too.” Just how good was this man’s sight? More observant than a field mouse.

Crowley’s point was proven during Copper’s finale. “You two seem to be on your own side with all of this going on. Whatever side that may be, I…,” what’s this? Crowley’s eyes went huge. It was.

The doctor was a tad nervous.

“Ah, I guess what I’m trying to say is…,” he shook his dirty blond head with a smirk pulled to one side and threw out an open hand in the small space between them. Crowley looked down quietly and finally realized it was an offered handshake. “Would you mind having one more on your side?”

Oh. _Oh._

Impulsively, Crowley tilted his head a little to catch a glance at Aziraphale. The bastard, she _had_ been listening to them. The proof was in her prim little smile, or the approving gleam in her too-big blue eyes. Even with Maurielle passed out on her chest in a mess of puffy lace and dangling limbs all snuggled into the comfort of her nanny’s soft arms.

The look was all he needed to confirm the angel’s answer. Crowley turned back to Copper and threw his own hand out to return the handshake. It was exhilarating. Should he hug him? No, no, much too weird. This was enough.

Crowley whirled back on Aziraphale, and Copper would just have to see what he signed up for with the two of them.

“You were eavesdropping this whole time, weren’t you?” Crowley hissed at her mockery of an innocent look.

“Not sure what you mean, dear boy.” Aziraphale chirped quietly over the little brown mop of curls slumbering away under her chin.

“Careful, Angel. That’s the sort of thing my lot would do, not yours.”

“Funny, I beg to differ.”

Copper watched the exchange quietly entertained for a short while, before a light seemed to turn on behind his sharp hazel eyes.

“Can I ask you both a question?”

Crowley waved his hands in a silent invitation, and Aziraphale nodded politely.

The doctor fixed each of them with the same calculating stare.

“ What are our plans to get to the children? And how are we going to get rid of Gastrell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An angel, a demon, and a human team up against the forces of psychotic evil? This should be interesting :} I wonder what they have planned, and I hope it's enough. 
> 
> Next Chapter: remember that angst we let softly boil on the backburner? (◑.◑) yeah...
> 
> All comments are welcome! As always, thank you for reading!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone! Thank you so much for being so patient! The past couple of weeks have been insanely busy! As a thank you, Chapter 24 is the longest chapter I've written so far so there's lots to read! QUICK SHOUT OUT TIME! - two amazing fan-artists have drawn amazing pieces for this story. Truly amazing. I want to share these with the world! Thank you, Chai_Muffin and Tarpiteyes for all the love, hard work, and detail you've put in to making these!
> 
> Chai_Muffin's work:  
> https://meganmlucas-illustration.tumblr.com/  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344668/chapters/58703347
> 
> Tarpiteyes' work:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/search/what+lies+in+the+castle+walls  
> https://tarpiteyes.tumblr.com/
> 
> NOW, before you jump in here are a few things; 1) buckle up, because this is a very intense chapter!! 2) *SPOILERS* in the Warnings below! Feel free to bypass them if you want to just dive-in!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: *SPOILER ALERT!!* potential typos, language, depictions of violence and gore, and...character death.

“I still think we should give them a name.” John’s pout could be seen without even looking it was so evident in his voice. He brushed back the stray locks from his face and sighed dramatically. “It’s tiring having to keep explaining them.”

Marilyn, now beginning to feel bad for her fellow troupe having to bear John’s whining, replied to her companion with an equally dramatic sigh. “Well, we’re not calling them _Midnight Crawler_ s, John. That’s just absurd.”

“Why not? I rather like it.” John huffed.

“As interesting as that sounds, dear boy, it’s a misleading term.” Aziraphale supplied helpfully in sympathy for the young man. Where Aziraphale had plenty of sympathy to give, Crowley did not. From his spot at the head of the group beside Copper, he snorted at John over one boney shoulder. “That’s a stupid name. Needs work.”

John stayed quiet for a moment, whether thinking harder or embarrassed the reason was unknown and easily forgotten amongst the rest of the group currently slipping through the shadows of the hallways and out of sight as best as five adults and one small child could.

“…what about Lurkers?”

“No.” Copper, Crowley, Aziraphale, and Marilyn all replied in unison.

“Feral Squatters?”

“ _No_.”

A pause. “Mad Monsters?”

“Egh, that one lacks creativity.” Aziraphale cringed, the scholar in her almost offended.

“Hm…creativity.” John put a hand to his chin in thought. He suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed at nothing. “Ah, what about Zombie? It’s a West African term I learned at the University a few years ago—”

“Ugh, no. That one will never catch on.” Crowley hissed, exchanging an annoyed look with Thaddeus and mouthed a _really, this guy?_ to which the military-physician-jack-of-all-trades whatever he was shook his head with a poorly hidden chuckle. “Kids these days.”

“Let’s just call them Lurkers. That one seems to be the…best proposed term, I’d say.” Although Aziraphale appeared invested, a keen-serpent eye for detail could see she was steadfast tiring of the topic as she re-adjusted Maurielle against her hip and smiled at the little girl occupying herself with the doll resting across the angel’s large bosoms. Her ladies could always be counted on for a nice resting place if need be. Crowley could second that notion.

“Lurkers it is!” John announced proudly. And that was that.

Speaking of, the fact that the group had only come across two Lurkers in their path toward the servant’s quarters were equal parts fortunate and suspicious. And speaking of fortunate, Crowley and Copper’s quick thinking and even quicker acting when the Lurkers showed up was a blessing; with Aziraphale powerless and also carrying Maurielle, Marilyn’s lack of upper body strength, and John’s cowardly screaming, the demon and doctor duo stood between them and being a Lurker’s next feast.

Thaddeus could be as modest as he wanted and say nothing, but Crowley would use this as another reason for the extra swagger in his walk.

The flat of a palm tugged Crowley back to present, and his attention followed the hand pushing the crook of his elbow to see the doctor’s serious expression. They stopped walking and the demon found himself flanked by Aziraphale and Copper on either side, all three now looking forward at the large wooden double-doors at the end of the hall.

“We’re here.” Copper whispered behind his mustache, motioning toward the doors with the revolver. “I’ll go first and check to see if it’s safe to—” a snap of fingers was barely heard and completely unseen immediately before the doors suddenly unlocked and swung open.

Crowley and Aziraphale strolled onward unfazed while Copper stood still in a fit of startled blinks. He was only momentarily stunned and quickly stepped forward to join them.

“Appears that will no longer be necessary, Doctor.” Aziraphale said.

“Convenient gust of wind just now.” Crowley mused.

“Quite.” Copper eyed Crowley suspiciously but said nothing further about it.

What was once a loungeroom looked as though a typhoon had blown through it and left utter devastation in its path; furniture toppled over, broken glass littered the floor, and in the midst of the mess the trio could see blood splotches staining the rug as well as hand prints smeared along the walls and upholstery.

“Maurielle, dear, grown-up eyes only.” And as soon as the words were whispered, Maurielle buried her face into the crook of her maid’s neck, little fingers clutching her doll and Aziraphale’s collar tightly.

A sight this horrible should not have been so easy to shrug off as it was now, and Crowley recognized his composed reaction to it as one far from normal. This castle was creating the worst habits, and he desperately hoped they were not to spend a minute longer in this place than they anticipated to.

“Why is that door ajar?” Aziraphale murmured from Crowley’s left. And sure enough, one of the double-doors on the far side of the room leading to another room was open no wider than a foot, and what sounded like a child coughing could be heard.

Before anyone could so much as register the sound, John shoved himself past Crowley and Thaddeus to march forward with something akin to a battle cry which accompanied a proud wave of his hand toward the door. “The children! Why are we just standing here? They need our—!”

Poor man, Crowley thought with only a very insignificant amount of remorse. As John stumbled over the incandescent sliver twine pulled tight just above the floor only to collapse under the weight of a makeshift net falling from the ceiling above the shadows, the serpent knew well he was watching the young man’s first lesson on tripwire traps.

Crowley winced at the high pitch shrill that came next.

Marilyn rushed forward and stopped next to Aziraphale, and now all four pairs of eyes watched John squirm and fight the net with frantic hands.

The young man thrashed around as if he were drowning. “They’re smart! The Lurkers are learning! Help me! _Someone help_ —!”

“Look who’s come crawling back. Ran out of places to hide, that right John?” A new voice, baritone and strong, boomed over the opera from the other side of the doorway now opening to let a…Crowley’s mind went blank when the only thing he could think of was _please don’t let this story include Nephilim,_ because this man was a _giant._

Everything about this castle was large from the doorways to the lengths of the walls and still this man, currently bending himself under the doorframe just to keep from hitting his head, made the enormous manor appear too small.

When he stood to full height, it was like watching a Kodiak bear stand to its full intimidating height, and it had all four onlookers craning their necks up to stare at the man’s hard glare. Judging by his outfit this man was one of the hired chefs, and that was great and all if it weren’t for the fact that this gigantic human could probably deadlift Charles with another Charles slung over his back.

Not only that, he was tall. To emphasize; Crowley was tall and would confidently say there were not many humans he had to look _up_ at _,_ yet right now he could not help feeling three feet tall by comparison.

“Coward.” The man’s voice rumbled deep and it vibrated in Crowley’s bones. Swells of muscle flexed when he folded arms across his massive chest, and veins throbbed underneath his taught cocoa complexion. Irises the color of rich mahogany burned a glaring hole in John laying at his feet, one eyebrow quirked at the young man in disgust.

“And you brought friends.” That penetrating glare was on them now and it did indeed burn as harsh as Crowley imagined it would.

A few swift jabs of an elbow into Crowley’s side unlocked some hidden subconscious habit within himself, as he instantly began piecing together his next move. Damn his angel really knew how to get what she wanted out of him. However, this was impacted by Crowley’s ability to process what he was seeing, which was taking an awfully long time. So, when the demon took one daring step forward, the only thing he could say was:

“…you’re _massive_.”

The squinted-eyed look he received made it apparent the comment was not appreciated. From behind him, Aziraphale sucked her teeth purposefully loud enough for him to hear.

It was at the instant the man turned his eyes on Thaddeus did his expression veer off in the opposite direction; eyes lighting like fireworks, his lips stretched into a wide and warm smile.

“Doctor!”

Thaddeus opened his mouth only to expel any remaining air in his lungs when the burly man swung hulking arms around the doctor’s lean frame, lifting him up off the ground as he did so.

“ _Timothy_.” The doctor greeted with a wheezed breath.

“Am I glad to see you!” Timothy thundered out a laugh which whipped Maurielle’s head from her maid’s neck with wide eyes.

“Big Tim!” Maurielle squealed, taking Aziraphale by surprise. The little girl excitedly waved a chubby hand at him.

“And Lady Maurielle, too!” Timothy beamed. “Glad to see you both safe! And we’ve got some interesting faces too!” This new welcoming expression was leagues more pleasant than the glaring inferno earlier. He politely curtsied at Aziraphale and gave a respectful nod to Crowley. “Lord Crowley. Why, a blind man could spot your character from a mile away. Good to see you and the miss safe as well.”

Crowley could only nod, humbled as well as mystified by this giant human.

Timothy set Copper back on his feet with all the gentleness one would put into moving a china cabinet. He opened his massive hands to yank the net off John, throwing it to the side effortlessly.

“Really wasn’t that heavy, mate.”

John’s face flushed. “I was blindsided.”

Before Timothy could extend a helping hand down to John, a high-pitched and voice-breaking battle cry broke out from the other room swiftly followed by pounding feet running toward them.

Bursting through the doorway wielding a table-leg in clenched hands held high above his messy brown head, Charlie charged toward John. Crowley knew that look; the boy’s adrenaline was through the roof. Maybe he should pull the boy’s reigns in before he knocked himself out, and no sooner than he stepped forward Timothy beat him to it.

“Steady on, lad!” The chef roared like the sea. One flick of his mighty wrist had fingers clenched around the blunt end of the leg, and Charlie’s momentum died the instant he was hoisted up.

The boy noodled around in the air as his feet swung for grounding, appearing not at all aware he would be back on the ground if he simply let go of the leg. “Lemme go, Big Tim! We can’t let—!”

“Charlie!” Maurielle cried out to her brother. Her top half propelled forward and almost pulled Aziraphale with her. The cry broke Charlie from his spell and he stopped wiggling long enough to open-mouth gawk at the sight of them.

“Elle?” Charlie choked back a sob, which backfired when he saw who was holding his sister. “Miss Fell!” His death grip on the leg released him back to the floor and he almost tripped in his dash forward with arms open. Aziraphale met the boy halfway with bended knees hitting the ground without a care. Her arms opened and Charlie did not need an invitation to throw himself into the three-way embrace.

When Aziraphale knew the perfect way to dote over children, it did amazing things to Crowley’s heart. His angel always insisted he was better with human children of the two, but then again, his angel never looked hard enough at her own reflection to see it came naturally to her.

Charlie and Maurielle reunited with tugging hugs and heart-wrenching cries, and Aziraphale allowed it all to happen just under her chin, eyes closed, and protective arms around each of them like a shield, or more so a barrier keeping the world outside from coming in and allowing these siblings just a brief moment of solidarity. Both Crowley and his angel understood that sentiment all too well.

Something about watching two young children sob together in reunion brought on a solemn mood in the hallway. For a minute no one said anything, and the opera’s music blended with the young cries in a distorted manner.

Crowley broke away first to look back up at Timothy. “Are the other children with you?”

Timothy’s confident nod almost made the demon cry. “Yes, My Lord. The other noble’s children and the youngest of the staff. They’re safe in the wine cellars below just through this connecting room. It’s the way we go from our rooms to the kitchens, so it’s well walled off.”

He continued much to Crowley’s joy. “We got others too. Some of the nobles and older staff. Thirty or so? Maybe more.” Thirty-something out of an estimated hundred in total was a glass half full and half empty, and whatever conflicted expression Crowley let show on his face was caught by the larger man. He quickly supplied. “About a dozen or so bolted outside into the forest. Not sure how long ago that was, I reckon a couple of hours. It’ll take at least that long to get to the neighbors on foot, but hopefully they’re almost there.”

The weight which lifted off the demon’s chest made his bones sing, and though he didn’t need to breathe it was somehow easier now. Charlie was found, and the rest of the children were safe. Based on the mountain grinning at him from the doorway it was safe to say it would take a small army of Lurkers to get through him if they were lucky.

“Mr. Timothy,” Aziraphale suddenly called out. Timothy looked past Crowley’s shoulder, and the demon followed his eyes to see her best beaming smile; the kind that could turn your insides to a warm gooey truffle of sweetness and pure adoration.

“Thank you.” There were layers of endless gratitude in those two words. The big man returned her smile, a ghost of a bashful blush on his warm brown cheeks.

How Crowley wished beyond anything that this was the beginning of a happy ending. And maybe it was for the humans around him, and for the children, and perhaps for even Aziraphale.

But for Crowley? Well, demons didn’t get happy endings.

“Tim.” The authoritative tone gained the large man’s attention almost instantly. “Think you can map out an escape route and get them out of here?”

“I’ll get them out.” It wasn’t just an answer; it was a promise as well, and it were moments such as this that made humanity worth fighting the forces of Heaven and Hell for well worth the trouble.

It was not a matter of if but when Aziraphale would pick up on Crowley’s sudden change in mood. He could feel her worried stare before seeing it, knowing well the sudden heat on the back of his head were from the intensity of her beautiful blue eyes. What he would give just to be wrong, but one did not know someone for thousands of years just to be so easily mistaken.

Copper moved toward Crowley and fixed him with a calculating look. Either Crowley was an open book right now, or the doctor’s keen eye for detail made the demon fortunate he and Aziraphale had welcomed this man to their side.

“Doctor,” Timothy called out with a pleading expression, “now that you’re here, would you mind looking over some of our hideaways? Nothing serious, though we do have a few who came away with some bites and scratches.”

“Of course, Tim.” Thaddeus nodded, giving Crowley a quick side-eye in an unspoken promise that he was not done with the demon, and with a deep inhale he collected himself. “Right, well enough standing around in this insufferable room.” He readjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat.

“I could use your familiarity with the kitchens, Tim. Specifically the liquor storage.”

Timothy blinked big eyes in understanding. “Ah, yes. We have various types you can use as disinfectant.”

“I was asking more for my sake, but brilliant idea.” Thaddeus smirked tiredly. “What I wouldn’t do for a bottle of gin to myself right now.” Timothy threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Aziraphale finally broke her stare at Crowley to the children under her chin and pulled away from them to stand. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and gave Charlie and Maurielle a gentle smile. “Little ones, I want you to go with Dr. Copper and Mr. Timothy. I need to have a word with Mr. Crowley.”

Now that the children were reunited, it was two pairs of large puppy eyes and wobbly pouts against one helpless nanny.

“B-But,” Charlie fussed, “we want to stay with you, Miss Fell! We don’t want anyone else to watch over us!” He stomped his foot, and Maurielle nodded her head adamantly with a squeak.

Thaddeus intervened like a saving grace to demonstrate his years of expertise as a father of nine. “I believe a few sips of whiskey are in order for good behavior.”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Fell. C’mon Maurielle.” Charlie gave his nanny a haste solute and turned on one heel to march valiantly after Thaddeus, snatching his little sister’s hand and dragging her off before she could argue. When Timothy laughed again it shook his broad shoulders. He casted mirthful eyes down at John’s smaller frame still sitting on the ground at his feet.

“C’mon, little man!” It only took one arm to swoop down and collect the smaller man off the ground effortlessly, tucking him under his armpit by the secure hold around his middle like one would scoop up a stray cat.

John squawked and tried to struggle, though the attempt was feeble against Timothy’s strength. “Erg, h-hold on! I don’t need you to carry me, Tim! M’not a child!” His protests were drowned by the bigger man’s baritone chuckles. Marilyn followed them with a roll of her eyes.

The doors closed behind them, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone in the fresh silence of the room only hindered by the opera still playing in the distance. Tension creeped into the spaces left vacant by the quiet air between them as they stood feet apart while both consumed by their own scattered thoughts. When Aziraphale finally turned around, she took her eyes off the doors to look up at him through thick lashes. Her hands wrung nervously across her tummy, and Crowley felt guilty at the knowledge he was the cause of it.

“I know that face.” Aziraphale whispered softly, taking two steps toward him. “What’s troubling you, dear?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of her gaze. He rolled his shoulders at the same time his answer danced hesitantly across his tongue.

“That bad?” Aziraphale pushed, and he was grateful when she did.

The demon shrugged. “Not sure.” He took a second to collect his thoughts before giving her his full attention.

“Didn’t want to cause alarm before I knew for certain, but…Protz was following us for a while.”

The alarm he was concerned about consumed her expression. Blue eyes shot open faster than he could process, and the way her body visibly tensed just then made him wince as if it looked painful.

“Alright,” she exhaled through tight lips and nodded slowly, “that…that _is_ bad.”

“I was able to mask our presence with a miracle. I don’t think it lasted long when he realized.” Crowley’s guilt doubled when he realized his intention to keep his angel from worrying herself into a fit was a useless feat when he caught the telltale signs of her nerves starting to fray.

“Crowley,” she swallowed thickly, “does he know we’re here? Does he…,” her breathing turned quick at the dreadful words she was about to say, “does this mean he knows about this place?”

The demon shook his head. “I couldn’t feel his presence toward the end, so I’m not sure. Probably hopped off like the obedient little shit he is back to his master.”

“Oh, _Lord_.” Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley wasn’t sure if she was aware her wringing hands flattened themselves together in prayer against her chest. “If he tells Alphaeus….” They both shivered, and he was glad she did not continue.

Realization flashed across the angel’s round face. Her fingers interloped her hands into one tight ball, blue eyes glistening with an array of emotions spanning from fear to dread and everything in between. _Clever angel_ , Crowley thought sadly.

“Crowley,” her tone was cautious, as if she were about to talk him off a ledge, “…you can’t possibly think of going after him by yourself—”

“I’m going to ask Thaddeus to accompany me.” Crowley cut her off. He shifted his eyes away to stare over her shoulder, cursing himself for being too cowardly to hold their eye contact while selfishly wanting to see her reaction.

He cringed at the sting of her hurt expression like a knife in his heart. If only she knew he was on the precipice of saying sod this whole fucking mess and tempt her to run away with him alongside the survivors. But this wasn’t about whether or not they completed their assignments anymore, and they both knew it.

“I see.” Aziraphale whispered so quietly it was apparent she was talking to herself. Her eyes lowered to watch her fingers worry the fabric of her dress. Crowley knew that look all too well and hated himself for making his angel feel so inadequate he had to rely on a human instead of her, which no offense to the good doctor, but there was something painfully humiliating about an angel or demon feeling weaker than a mortal human.

He would have none of that if he could help it. “Angel….”

She shook her blond head, eyes shut tight. “You don’t have to coddle me, Crowley. I understand.”

“M’not trying to coddle you.”

A small huff of humorless laughter escaped her frowning lips. “Whatever you call it, I don’t need it.” He said nothing, knowing well she was not done and waited patiently for her to continue.

“Forgive me, dearest.” And just like that, whatever momentary rush of discomfit melted away to something akin to shame. “I’m being ridiculous. It would be a mistake having me come along, I-I would just be in the way; burden that I am right now, a liability—”

“ _Enough_.” A quick demonic miracle closed the distance between them as Crowley now stood inches away from her. His hand gripped her chin firmly, and despite her stiff protest he used only the most tender form of force to make her face him. He could not make her look at him, so when she opened her troubled blue eyes by her own choice, he had to hold himself back from kissing the small space of soft skin between her pinched brows in unspoken gratitude.

It took everything Crowley had to maintain his disapproving scowl over a tempting pout, but dammit she needed to know he was not about to stand by while she deprecated her own value.

“Aziraphale,” his voice was soft yet held no room for argument, “I’ve waited so long-too long to be able to have you like this. I won’t throw that away to risk your safety, not again. Not ever. That, Angel, is a fate worse than death. I need you to be strong for me again and keep yourself safe for the both of us.” His grip on her chin trembled, and he hoped she could feel just what the mere thought of her in harms way did to him. “I have all the faith in the world you can be that strong for me. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, with or without your powers. You’ve proven that time and time again.” He leaned down until his lips were a breath away from hers.

“I won’t have anyone speak about my angel like that, so you’d best change your tune, missy.” He waited until she broke first in a mess of trembling lips and building tears, and finally allowed himself a much-deserved smirk as soon as she hiccupped in defeat.

“Oh, my darling serpent.” She swatted his hand from her chin and immediately threw herself into his arms with a passionate kiss. He could feel her fingers digging into the fabric of his back and welcomed the way she held him tightly against her.

And just like the span of their lovemaking, it was as though time and space yielded enough to let them stay like this a little longer; lips moving together mapped every little detail to memory while hands gripped and secured each other as if the world suddenly threatened to pull them apart. It eventually would, and this ineffable truth only drove them both to cling ever more desperately to one another.

When they finally separated with enough distance to gaze at each other, Aziraphale reached up to cup his thin face in her hands. Through stubborn tears, she managed a resilient smile.

“Come back to me.” The way she said it promised worse repercussions for Crowley if he didn’t.

He smiled at his fierce little angel. “Don’t know why I wouldn’t.” A playful wink in afterthought helped chase off any lingering fear.

“And for Heaven’s sake, Crowley, whatever it takes do _not_ go easy on that despicable little bastard.” Her fierceness knew no bounds sometimes, and to hear his saintly doe-eyed angel encourage malicious behavior made him want to miracle some additional locks on those doors, lay her down by the fireplace in the corner, and ravish every inch of her in a way that would make the most feral beast feel like a docile lamb.

“Careful, Angel. I don’t know if I’m feeling generous enough to miracle that dress back together after I’m done tearing it off with my teeth— _oww!_ ” He yelped when she pinched his cheek between her thumb and index finger.

The adorable pout which puffed her flushed cheeks held no trace of heat. It was, however, insanely affectionate and fueled the playfully painless sting of her pinch.

“Lecherous tempter.”

-:-

“Anthony, as I’m sure you’re well aware, I trust you enough to follow your lead without much instruction, however—” Thaddeus paused to take a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke through panted breaths, “—a courtesy rundown would be much appreciated.”

Ah. It had been bugging Crowley for the last half hour; that needling sensation in the back of his mind when he was certain he’d forgotten to do something but for the life of him could not remember what it was. Without looking back, Crowley replied over his shoulder as he continued his jog through the maze of hallways and interlinking rooms, “we, good doctor, are hunting frog.”

“Mm.” Thaddeus grunted as if that was all Crowley needed to say, however his attestation was not quite convincing. “Haven’t hunted frogs since I was a young lad. I take it this specific breed is much larger than the norm, and currently stalking these grounds at the bidding of their deranged employer?”

“Exactly.” Crowley grinned.

“So, you’re request that I smoke was not because you thought I needed one, but to leave a scent trail to help lure him to us?”

“On the nose, Thaddeus. As always.”

“Mm.” This grunt confirmed the real Queen’s Hound understood. “Simple. I like it.”

By luck or sheer coincidence, Crowley’s heightened sense of smell picked up the familiar scent of the demon butler’s swampy odor and judging by the stagnant pungency he was close by. Crowley slowed his jog to a halt and threw up a hand for Copper to mimic him.

Since the moment they left the servant’s quarters, Crowley had spared a small fraction of his attention from hunting Protz to formulate, and admittedly obsess like the anxious thing he was, just how he was going to both pull off the next steps in his plan while ensuring he still had a friend in Thaddeus Copper. Fortunately for Aziraphale, he had warned her that should Copper run off screaming in terror the angel would be nursing a heartbroken serpent in her bookshop for what could be several months. Or years. Time was funny like that for immortal beings.

Here it goes.

“Thaddeus.” The serpent did not turn to face the man yet but knew the seriousness in his voice was enough to gain his full attention.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that dramatic way you drop your voice tells me I’m not going to like this next part.” Damn, he was good.

Before Crowley could continue, Thaddeus quickly added. “Whatever it is, I’ll just say this now; unless you’re about to reveal you’ve been working for that gunslinging maniac this entire time, I don’t think my reaction will be as bad as you’re expecting.”

A warmth spread over Crowley’s heart then, and it should have scorched a black demon heart like his to ash. Instead, those words lifted a fraction of the weight off his chest. It also gave Crowley a wonderful idea and a helpful addition to his next plan of action. He would put a pin in that for when the occasion called for it.

With a hearty sigh, Crowley reached up to remove his spectacles, folded its thin metal arms appropriately, and extended his hand behind him in a silent request for Thaddeus to take them from him. He counted the seconds it took for the doctor to pluck them slowly from his waiting palm.

“Anthony…,” Copper sounded calm, but the underlying caution in his tone was glaringly obvious.

With a breath deep enough to lift his thin shoulders, Crowley began. “I’ve lived a long time. If I were to tell you how long, well…that’s a story for another day,” if that day were ever possible after this, “and in the time I’ve seen humanity grow and evolve I have to say you’re a rare breed, Thaddeus. You’re damn good people, mate.” He paused to keep himself on topic.

“Wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into before what’s about to happen, because if this is like every other time in history that someone found out what I am, I won’t blame you for turning around and bolting for the nearest exit.” He was technically telling the truth; while he wouldn’t blame the good doctor, he didn’t say anything about how it would bother him to lose a friend.

“If you do choose to stay, I promise no harm will come to you by my hand. Protz may be a creepy old man, but he’s far from human. To take him down, you’re going to witness things you may not comprehend, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Time for the finale. And being the flash bastard Crowley was made sure he would finish with style.

The demon finally turned around to look at his human friend with serpentine eyes and tried not to think about the way those hazel eyes went impossibly large, or the many shades of pale his skin turned, or the sound of the human’s steady breathing stop completely.

“Normally, Aziraphale –Miss Fell as you know her by– would be the more certified one between the two of us to take Protz out, but given otherworldly circumstances I’m going to have to fight fire with a familiar breed of fire…if you get where I’m coming from.”

Copper nodded slowly as if hypnotized. Crowley couldn’t help but wince.

Time passed agonizingly slow and equally as tense as the two stood there staring at each other. The demon waited with bated breath for any sign of emotion or reaction from the military doctor. When the man’s blank face suddenly broke into a fit of blinks it almost startled Crowley back.

The stupefied blinking stopped, replaced by narrow-eyed scrutiny. Those sharp eyes bore into his like he was searching for something, which must have been hidden well by the way Copper had to re-adjust his spectacles halfway through. The intensity of his scrutiny was starting to make the serpent fidget.

After what felt like an eternity, Thaddeus moved his head back and let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “Your sclera’s have a tinge of red around the edges.”

His _what_? Crowley blanched so hard he nearly fell back on his ass. “Beg your pardon?”

Another exhale, this time with more patience. “The whites of your eyes, Anthony, they’re red. Have you been experiencing any frequent stinging or burning in them?”

“Ahh…,” not at all what Crowley expected, so he needed a second to think about the question. “Mm-ah-m-maybe a little, ah, ngk’yeah…?”

“Hm. Sensitivity to light?”

Always. Crowley glanced around their surroundings several times in confusion before turning back to Thaddeus.

“Sssometimes….”

“Cloudy vision?” Crowley shook his head numbly in reply. “No? Any ache or fatigue?” The demon answered anyway because he had no idea what else to do than to just roll with it and if he were being completely honest with himself; yes, he did experience off and on bouts of discomfort in his eyes but he grew to ignore it after several thousand years. “Ah-wh-ngh, s-sort of, not-not really—” he finally snapped out of his daze and fixed the human with a glare and a hiss. “I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

Thaddeus stroked his chin with one hand, arm rested on top of the other at the point of his elbow which rested in the open palm of his other hand. His eyes glazed over in serious contemplation.

“You may be suffering from chronic dry eyes. I published a research paper on hypersecretion a few years back which included my hypotheses on how the sympathetic nerves control the basal lacrimal secretions—”

Crowley let out a wounded grunt at all the big words being thrown at him just then.

“—after we’ve put all this mess to bed, I recommend you schedule an appointment at my clinic. I may have something that could help alleviate some of the redness and irritation. I’m usually booked several months out, but just let my head nurse Minnie know who you are, I’ll make sure she knows to open a spot for whatever time works best for your schedule.”

When he _finally_ stopped, they were back to staring at each other although their reactions were now reversed.

“….”

“…what?”

“Nothing.” All that trouble and worry for nothing. Crowley almost felt like a fool –a relieved fool, but a fool, nonetheless. “That was…well, that was a thing. Thank you, doctor. I take it you’re ready for me to share my plans on how we take Protz down?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Thaddeus pulled out the revolver from the waistline of his pants and held it like he was born knowing how to use it.

“It’s about time.”

-:-

With all the pieces fit in their proper places, Crowley’s plan was off to a great start.

Protz was an easier target than first anticipated. Perhaps this was partly because frogs were easy prey for snakes made even easier by the simple fact that unlike the vast amount of different species found in the animal kingdom on Earth, Hell did not have such intricate webs of species. Everything about downstairs was simple, those lazy sods.

Despite how effortless it was for Crowley’s large serpent form to sneak up on the demon butler, he knew better than to let his guard down for a second. So, when Protz turned the corner and stood stock still in the middle of the hallway, the only warning given was a shuffle of scales against the ground and no sooner had Protz made to look over his shoulder the serpent was well into coiling his spindly frame around the butler’s, muscles constricting with bone-shattering force which was emphasized in the sickening pops and snaps heard over the slithering, and Crowley felt the body break and twist as it succumbed to his unyielding strength.

Faster than lightening the serpent struck, and imbedded elongated fangs deep into Protz’ neck puncturing vital arteries where Crowley’s venom flowed unrestrained. As expected, the intrusion of his poison triggered powerful convulsions in the frog demon’s body.

The rich pungent tang of ichor coated the serpent’s forked tongue; there was no helping it, never was. The taste of his victim’s blood had long ago lost it influence on him. Nature of the business and all. With each blood type there was always a distinct difference in taste, but nothing abnormal. Protz was no different.

Until it was.

Every nerve, every cell inside Crowley’s body erupted in a blaze of agonizing fury. Whatever it was, it didn’t spread, but blanket over his entire being at full force; submerging him into an immediate state of panic while setting off every instinctual alarm to pull away, put distance between him and the danger. After one jarring pulse, Crowley ripped his fangs from of the butler’s neck and uncoiled to slither erratically away. Nearly blinded, the large serpent bucked and whipped against the pain.

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before; it boiled his blood like holy fire, filled his veins with lead weight, yet before it could rip any more control away from Crowley’s motor functions he quickly transformed back into his human corporation in a flail of panicked limbs until he was on his hands and knees.

Fear threatened to consume him at the same speed as this new sensation, and he pushed it down with every fiber of his being. He was a fighter; he was a force to be reckon with. Being the only demon with a vibrant imagination unmatched by any other he exhausted every form of willpower he was capable of to combat it.

It did nothing. Crowley could hear his teeth catch and grind hard against each other as his jaw clenched. Another spasm of pain threw him into a fit of strangled coughs. It wasn’t enough. A trembling hand reached up to claw at his constricted throat all but gasping for air desperate to sooth his burning lungs.

Immense pressure behind his sockets threatened to pop his eyes out. Through his struggle to keep his vision focused, he saw Protz stumble to the ground hard only feet away from him. Crowley opened his mouth to curse the frog, but an inhuman screech was the only sound that came out.

A blunt force struck him in the ribs just then, buckling his arms and send him in a sprawl on his back to stare up at the ceiling barely visible outside the reach of the gaslit lamps around him.

Through muddled hearing, triumphant cackles made Crowley want to inch away with what waning strength he had left. The butt of a blunt object smashed into his sternum held his squirming body where he laid. Face distorted in scrunched misery, he followed the end of the object from his chest up a long silver body to the tall lean shadow engulfing him.

In the shadowed angles casted by the dim light of the flickering lamps, Crowley could make out two bright eyes staring down at him, irises consumed by blown pupils the absence of color. To the serpent’s growing horror, an irregular stretch of razor teeth glistened in the light confirmed a sickening truth.

“Best catch of the night!” That voice, gleefully raucous in pitch bled excitement and pride.

In a useless attempt to spat hateful nothings in retort, the instant Crowley tried the spasm of pain only permitted him a wet gurgled hack.

“It was only a matter of time before I caught you, lovely little thing.” Alphaeus sang, eyes squeezing into slivers to make room for the manic grin that nearly split his face in half. The butt of his shotgun rotated against Crowley’s chest, digging painfully into his bones as it moved torturously slow.

“You know, ever since the moment I saw you for the beauty that you are I knew you were different; stronger than any I’ve come across thus far. You must be ancient.” The monster lapped his stretched lips with a charcoal-black tongue hungrily. “Disguising yourself so cleverly amongst the humans, you’ve done this for a long time, haven’t you? Honestly, as thrilled as I am even, I can’t help but be just a tad scared of what you’re capable of.”

If the torment of whatever it was coursing through Crowley’s being weren’t so overwhelming, he would have flinched back with how fast Alphaeus bent himself at the waist to lean in for a closer look, mocking him with every inch his sneering face crept closer. At first the sight of the new additions to the demented creature’s features made Crowley consider if they were nothing more than hallucinations bred from the tormenting pain, but after a while there was no mistaking the very real protrusion of two small black gnarled horns from Alphaeus’ forehead symmetrically level above his eyes and below his hairline. Throbbing black veins spider-crawled just underneath pale skin. He’d never known this monster to have such a ghostly-white complexion, more alabaster than he remembered. He also never remembered the Duke’s stature being so much thicker and bulkier. The way his form-fitted clothes strained against his mass confirmed his suspicions.

“So, I made some last-minute revisions-some…failsafe tweaking.” He winked down at the struggling demon under his shotgun. “How does it feel, Anthony? Tell me, if you can, what my cursed concoction feels like coursing through your delicious body. Took me dozens of demons to make it. Nothing too strenuous, really; mostly my blood with some peppering of other toxins added in. Protz is _full_ of the stuff. Doesn’t affect him much, not having a heart and all…that, and some of his blood is part of the recipe.”

“Speaking of!” Alphaeus interrupted himself up to stand tall once more, eyes scanning the area for his butler. “Good show, old boy! You really—oh… _oh,_ dearest Protz….” His tone dropped to a sorrowful lilt as the pout which now adorned his features could not be determined if sarcastic or genuine. Crowley sunk his fangs into the meat of his bottom lip to muster just enough force to turn his head only to watch the smoking mass of Protz dissolve away as Crowley’s venom decomposed his body.

“Tch, damn.” Alphaeus whined with a childish jerk of his shoulders but pursed his lips in curious wonderment for only a passing second before he looked down at Crowley again. “I was right to assume you were powerful—I mean, whatever you pumped into him is some grizzly stuff, but…ugh, do you know how hard it is to find someone _that_ devoted? Silly little snake.” His playful scolding and the forceful wrench of the shotgun grinding into Crowley’s sternum were on two vastly different wavelengths of comprehension.

A passionate sigh and wave of Alphaeus’ hand to his forehead in mock exasperation later, and the Duke continued his derisive lament. “Oh, what will I do now? Who could possibly replace my sweet, darling Protz?” He paused for dramatic effect, and his toothy grin was back for an encore. Slowly, he twisted his head to look at Crowley from a new angle, the bones and joints in his neck popping loudly as he did.

The serpent choked and sputtered. Alphaeus’ eyes sparkled.

“Looks like you just found yourself a new place of employment.”

From out of nowhere by some unforeseen willpower, Crowley managed a wet broken snarl.

“… _f-fffuck you._ ”

Alphaeus stared at him unblinkingly, his smile and quirked eyebrow twitching simultaneously. “…you might be more work than Protz was, but I’ll be sure to break you of that nasty little streak in no time, my sweet.”

A new shadow appeared from behind Alphaeus before either of them could notice. Crowley was the first one to catch the movement from the corner of his eye, and despite his pain-drunk delirium knew better than to draw attention by looking away. The creature towering over him did not appear to notice the movement. Perhaps Bach’s hunting cantata blaring in the background drowned out any sound the new presence made, which would be a beautiful tragic irony.

With all the stealth of a trained soldier, Thaddeus stood only feet away from them. His arm raised, revolver gripped in his steady hand, the barrel aimed directly at the back of Alphaeus’ skull. _Yes,_ Crowley wanted to cry.

Thaddeus was quicker than any human he’d ever seen. But Alphaeus, only perhaps a fraction human now, was faster.

The deafening crack of a gunshot stunned Crowley briefly, and he fought desperately through blurry vision to see who pulled the trigger. When Alphaeus moved his right hand under his left armpit with pistol cocked and pointed behind him there was no telling, but it was the only telltale sign that this beast had moved an inch in those crucial seconds.

From behind him, the force of the shot at such a close-range propelled Thaddeus’ body in a backward-spin to land lifelessly sprawled face-down across the cold ground, revolver clattering across the ground to lay as still as it’s handler next to it.

It took a moment for Crowley to realize the sudden chorus of hoarse animalistic howls were coming from his own throat. His body bucked up against the shotgun’s weight and threw his head up to clack teeth at Alphaeus in a blind rage.

“Hm.” Alphaeus snorted once he fully caught up with what just happened. He didn’t even bother to spare a glance behind him and instead clicked his teeth. The shotgun was lifted from the enraged demon’s chest as the Duke turned to stroll down the hallway, stepping over Copper’s body as if it were a kink in the rug.

“Come, Butler Crowley. _Get up_.”

The pain instantly numbed into a cold nothingness, taking the last shred of the serpent’s control with it. Arms moved on their accord and Crowley, now more frightened than he could ever remember feeling, wished beyond anything he could still feel the nausea in his stomach because that meant there was at least something he was able to feel, but the numbness spread quickly. Like a marionette, his head lifted, and his arms and legs began to propel himself off the ground to stumble shakily toward Alphaeus with all the grace of a newborn fawn.

 _No. No. Nonononono_ , Crowley’s hindbrain screamed in the recess of his mind within the compartment of his subconscious now so small it was suffocating, and tried in vain to fight back the dominating control from taking the only thing he had left. The guttural snarl that crawled out of his mouth then was not of his own doing, and it horrified him. _You are MY body; do you hear me?! MINE. I’ve had you for thousands of years, you will NOT do this to me! Don’t you dare betray me for him! Don’t…please…._

“You’ll get the hang of it, old boy. Takes time!” The Duke cackled. He slung the shotgun over one shoulder and marched proudly forward.

“There’s still much to do, dear Crowley. I wonder if we’ll happen upon that darling little angel. I’m sure she’ll be _thrilled_ to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T_T Before you get your pitchforks ready to hunt me down because I know I deserve it after this chapter!! Bear with me, shit seems tragically awful right now, but we got more to go and anything can happen at this point! 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, I welcome all feedback (even if you want to vent your rage, I'll take it!) If you'd like to chat you can also find me on Tumblr: https://christi-writes.tumblr.com/ - if about my story, I'd be happy to share some vague-spoilers, answer any questions or story content, or if you want to talk about anything else I'm down!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are seriously troopers, and a very lovely forgiving group I must say (っಥ_ಥ)っ ♥ this chapter may help sooth the ache, though still have the tissues on hand because this one is a tear jerker.
> 
> Warnings! - angst, *trigger warning* just in case for descriptions/depictions of death/dying.
> 
> Enjoy the BAMF!

It was divine intuition which played upon the frayed edges of Aziraphale’s nerves first; a buzzing of restless energy she could not shake was soon accompanied by a foreign conscious effort to scratch her skin as if something warranted the desire. It never meant anything good. Being an angel and all, she would know how to tell the difference.

There had not been any allowance for lounging around and stewing on these unsettling sensitivities until now. Having a soul bred for love and compassion, Aziraphale was no stranger to people forming random assumptions of her person if they stood close enough to feel the waves emitting off her.

And topped with the conditions of their situation; thirty or so frightened humans huddled together in a crowded wine-cellar, it only took a few minutes for her soul to give off enough essence of comfort and protection until the next thing she knew she was giving encouraging speeches, offering kind words of optimism, and though she was not one for physical contact from those she did not know, she was giving out hugs as if she were handing out plates of food to the starving homeless.

Timothy had been forever grateful for it, as it gave him a chance to ensure the pathway out was a guaranteed success. The chef-turned-patron-defender seemed only equipped for the job suddenly bestowed upon him not only for his grand stature but for his selfless empathic nature. Aziraphale could tell in no time this man’s biggest muscle was his heart. Offering her assistance in this troubling time was the least she could do, however it did come with a price and it was his fault, really, for admitting he was a _pastry_ chef. At a time much better suited, she would collect that payment gleefully in the form of a dozen of his finest delectable creations.

This led Aziraphale to present-time. The caravan of survivors stopped to regroup and gather themselves before reaching the cellar doors which led out into the farm lands in the back of the property. Timothy had laid out a map which detailed their next direction from the castle; a two-story barn several acres across the cow pastures that could house them through the night safely.

As heavenly as that sounded, the more time passed the more Aziraphale wondered if Crowley and Copper would know where to find them and wondered where they would decide to seek shelter and regroup themselves if not. Crowley could always find her easier than a nail in a haystack, however, so her growing worry was strangely hyper-focused for no real reason. For a worry-warrior like Aziraphale to admit that was saying something.

There had to have been something else fueling the unease she felt so consumed by, something more she was not able to shake. If Crowley ever found out she worried herself to such an extent he’d throw a fit and fuss at her. He wouldn’t be wrong for doing it. After all, she assured her demon before he left that she would remain strong for them both.

Saying it was one thing, it was just the doing part that was the tricky bit.

With a sobering blink, Aziraphale realized her ruminations had gone on for so long without interruption it was now suspicious. Her eyes drifted to the left to check on her two little lambs, curious to see what the past fifteen unsupervised minutes had gotten them into and was astonished to find them both still in the same spots sitting on the ground with their backs to the wall.

Though Aziraphale will admit she may be as slow as molasses when it came to accepting change or _getting with the times_ as Crowley called it, never let it be misunderstood that meant she was a slow learner. The past few months of doting over the Windsor children constantly was enough and more to read them like books several times over.

Aziraphale quirked one blond brow skeptically and immediately decided she would not spare either of them.

“Are we alright, over there?” The angel kept her voice discreet.

Charlie, sitting a few feet from his sister, had shifted himself to face in almost the opposite direction with his boney knees tucked under his chin and currently supporting the weight of a serious pout. His arms wrapped around his folded legs and was all but balled up and brooding. His little brows furrowed above a thousand-yard stare at nothing outside the war going on in his head. Splendid.

Maurielle was next. Unliked her brother’s curled posture, her fluffy dress fell over her straight stubby legs, little black buckle shoes knocking against each other slowly. Sad stormy eyes looked down at Abbigail splayed across her lap, and like her brother saw only what was plaguing her thoughts. Her chubby fingers moved the doll’s arms back and forth with no more purpose than to satisfy a fidgety habit.

The angel sighed. “Who wants to go first? Any volunteers?”

Maurielle flickered her eyes to Charlie but only made it halfway before returning to her lap. Charlie huffed what might as well had been steam from his hot head through his nostrils.

Volunteers always received just a smidgen more reprieve for being the braver one, because Aziraphale did not teach children to be tattletales, but she did encourage vocalizing concerns and for having the strongest voice. What surprised her this time was the hesitance from both sides for this long when normally these two would be bowling over each other trying to be the first to spill.

With a silent encouragement, Aziraphale fixed her stare at Maurielle knowing it would have the same effect on her as a magnifying glass placed between the sun and a blade of grass. As expected, Maurielle caved under the intensity and whispered out a tiny little admission past her frowning lips. “…Charlie called me an idiot.”

Not the worst word they have spat at each other, and nothing severe enough to make them act like this. The angel would have to do a bit of digging for this one. She sighed with a well-rehearsed reprimand already on hand.

“Charlie, you shouldn’t call your sister names.”

It took a few seconds to let the words settle, but suddenly Charlie did something that Aziraphale had never seen him do before.

He turned his back on both her and Maurielle while curling in on himself harder. This had the Principality now seriously invested, and almost missed the small sneer from the older boy.

“M’not apologizing.” The way he said it allowed no room for argument. “I meant what I said.”

“Charlie—”

“—you said people should apologize only when they truly mean it or if it’s deserved.” The boy’s voice held steady, but there was an obvious seething volcano settled underneath it threatening to blow. “I won’t say it b’cus I won’t mean it, and _she_ doesn’t deserve it.”

Children, for how young and naïve they were, had the propensity to say things with such a sting it felt like a knife cut. Aziraphale was so startled she quickly watched Maurielle’s face for the oncoming storm of cries and hurt feelings.

But Maurielle did something the angel had never seen her do before; bowing her small curly-brown head in shame, the girl remained quiet and almost conceded. In that moment she truly looked her age.

Aziraphale whirled on Charlie. “Care to explain why you think Maurielle deserves to be called names?”

“Ask _her_.”

Charlie _never_ back-talked like this. She had no choice but to turn to Maurielle with a silent gesture to take the floor, now more interested to get the full story before handing out punishments.

The younger Windsor sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to nibble worriedly, fingers now foregoing the doll to fidget amongst themselves. “…he-he said I’m an idiot because I’m…selfish, a-and,” her chin wobbled as stormy blue eyes began to glisten with unshed tears but despite it all she coaxed it down with a small swallow, “and I don’t care—”

Aziraphale had heard enough. Turning back to Charlie, she pegged him with a disapproving tone. “Why would you say—”

Charlie whipped around then, nearly startling his nanny back with wide eyes at the fury scrunching his young face.

“She left me behind, that’s why I said it!” The shout gained some unwanted attention from around them in the crowded area. The angel didn’t have to look around to feel the lingering stares. Ignoring them for the sake of the boy’s angry words, she waited quietly for him to continue.

Charlie turned his glare on Maurielle next. “She _always_ does this, always running off and never giving a _toss_ about how it makes me feel!” He was at that age where the first signs of his voice changing could be found in the way his pitch broke, and it only served to magnify his emotions.

Frustrated tears pooled on his bottom lashes, and he reached up with the back of his hand to roughly wipe them away as if they were a nuisance. “I-I’m the elder brother! I-I should be there with you, but-but how can I when you always run off and leave me behind!”

Some unseen restraint snapped inside this boy, because once he started talking, he wouldn’t stop no matter how hard he fought past the building urge to cry. “Mother and Father are _dead_ , and it doesn’t even feel any more different than if they _were_ alive because they’ve _never_ been there for us, like they’re not here for us _now_. It’s always just been us, Maurielle!”

A painful force struck Aziraphale’s heart at those words. If she weren’t so stunned, she would have gasped and threw a hand to her mouth. More and more people were beginning to turn around and watch them. When Maurielle flinched away as if the words had slapped her, it was then Aziraphale snapped out of her shock to let out an angry bark.

“Young Lord,” Aziraphale nearly growled, “you will _not_ say such horrid things to your younger sister. What an awful thing to say—!”

“Forgive me, Miss Fell, but we’re not blind!” Charlie cried back in defense, pointing a thin finger at Maurielle. “She knows it, too. We both do.”

It was enough to snap Aziraphale mouth shut and with wide eyes looked to Maurielle for confirmation. Those sad eyes returned her look from under long lashes in quiet affirmation and watching a child of only five years of age look at her like that threatened to bring the angel to tears.

She couldn’t bare to see it anymore, and instead swept her eyes left and right to meet the faces of onlookers in a silent apology, the smile she gave them in unspoken gratitude was a poor one, but to her relief the faces she saw looking back held no shred of judgment. These people around them, tired and fearful, were understanding and sincere.

Charlie’s whimper pulled the angel’s attention back to the children. It seemed the emotion building up behind the boy’s rage was too much to hold back, as he profusely wiped the relentless streams of tears falling down his cheeks.

“We’re all we have, Elle….” Charlie sputtered over a small sob. “I-I may not be as smart as you, but I can keep up.” His little hand was shaking against his cheek. “A-All I want is f-for you to tell me, so I can,” he hiccupped, “s-so I can go with you. Please don’t leave me behind again, Elle. Y-You always go too fast for me.”

Something about that last part rang loud in Aziraphale’s mind; a statement so powerfully kindred to a self-conscious part of the angel which reared its ugly head every time she watched Crowley walk away after she declined what she believed to be a daring offer to defy their respectful sides and do something together. The arrangement, or even a simple invite to go somewhere together for a day, or a night, a temptation she would consider but decline as soon as the disapproving stares of archangels scared her back into a lonely submission.

Charlie was all out sobbing now, but his brave little voice still managed to continue. “How do you think I felt when everyone left? First Father, then Miss Fell, then Mother, and then _you_. And I-I was here, by myself. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be left behind….”

Someone sniffled in the distance, and Aziraphale blinked away the tears she hadn’t noticed in her own eyes. How blind had she been? So busy with everything going on, it was so easy to forget that while Charlie held his own so courageously in all this, she never realized the extensive toll it was taking on these children—specifically Charlie, who had been left all alone to think that perhaps he would be the only Windsor left alive.

Before anyone could say anything, the sound of shuffling movement was heard followed by a timid whisper.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.” The boy blinked away his tears and looked up to see Maurielle kneeling in front of him, Abbigail on the ground momentarily forgotten as her big wet eyes stared at her older brother. And suddenly, she was reaching forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug until they were ear-to-ear as she nuzzled her head next to his. As soon as the shock wore off, Charlie’s reaction was instant; he threw his arms around her to return the embrace.

“Y-You’re not a-hic-an idiot!” He belted. Maurielle mimicked Miss Fell’s soothing comforts in the way she cooed sweetly and pet his messy dark brown hair with one chubby little hand.

Aziraphale stared, not sure when her face split into a loving smile but stood quietly to the side and admired these two with a heavy heart. There was no denying the entire reason for her assignment was not to coddle Charles and Charlotte, but to watch over these little angels and make sure everyone saw what greatness these two would become, the amazing ways these brilliant, resilient Windsor siblings would change this world.

Crying broke out from somewhere behind her, and when she turned she was taken aback by the flux of love emanating from the survivors around her; young and old, highborn and low-class, all giving the children tender-hearted smiles and soft expressions. When the feeling intensified, Aziraphale almost had to steady herself from the lightheadedness it caused. Whoever it was crying was now blubbering.

A familiar voice tutted the person crying just then. There was no mistaking Marilyn’s exasperated lilt. “Oh, John. I know it was sad but please pull yourself together.”

Ah, that explained the blubbering. Someone must have handed him a handkerchief because he blew his nose loudly then. “Can’t help it, Mar. That was so touching!”

“John does have a point,” came Timothy’s baritone from the angel’s left. She glanced over and watched the giant man dab his eyes with his apron.

Aziraphale walked forward to kneel next to Charlie and Maurielle, who broke apart as soon as they noticed their nanny beside them. She planted a gentle hand on each of their shoulders and looked between each of their little faces.

“I am so proud of you two. My brave, loving, caring little lambs, you both will be rewarded with beautiful lives.” _I promise,_ she thought. “I’m sorry for your parents, I truly am. But you two have something so powerful, and that’s each other. Take care of one another, and you will be blessed with a fortunate future. Remember; the darkest moments are always before the bright warmth of dawn.”

As they both nodded shyly, she gave them a bright beaming smile. “Now, enough of all this sadness. We’ll be leaving here shortly, _so we should buck up and begin treating ourselves to whatever pleasant thoughts we like best._ ” Ignoring the infinitesimal buzzing of additional warmth at the last part, Aziraphale knew asking for these two to pull themselves out of their funk when they needed time to process their parent’s deaths were not an easy request—

“Auntie Dee’s meat pie.” Charlie sighed dreamily, the somber expression from earlier now long gone and replaced by a fond smile.

Maurielle nodded, her expression a reflection of her brother’s suddenly. “And running through Nanna’s cherry orchard!”

“Yeah!” Charlie chirped, nodding just as excitedly with his fists balled happily. “And jumping off the pier into the lake at the summer home!”

Their reactions were _far_ too quick. Aziraphale looked alarmingly between their euphoric expressions, her eyes growing wider with each passing second. It couldn’t be…could it?

She shot up to her feet faster than a blink and stared at everyone in the cramped passageway.

“Everyone!” She shouted out with more panic than she should have but when it successfully gained all of their attentions, she decided to test her theory. With a deep breath, she focused her attention on every word. “ _Let’s all come together in a quick prayer._ ”

Their reactions were instant.

“Yes, that sounds like a lovely idea!” Cried a young maid.

“I agree! Please, let’s do that!” Came a gleeful shout, soon joined by a chorus of nods and agreeing voices.

Holy shit.

Did Crowley and Copper…? Did they destroy Protz? Did they defeat Alphaeus? She was not certain, but whatever it was brought life back into her dim heavenly flame. And it begged the question to what extent did her powers return?

As everyone huddled together and bowed their heads above clasped hands, Aziraphale took full advantage of this moment and shut her eyes appearing as though she would join them, but as her eyes closed in this dimension she opened them to the ethereal plain with a desperate hopeful plea.

It was only a bit blurry, but nothing like it was before. She could _see_ her wings fidget behind her, could _feel_ them buzz with anticipation. Weak though they were, they listened and fluttered obediently when she commanded them to move.

A few of her eyes, her beautiful gold-sapphires, opened around her in greeting. Not all of them, but the some that did welcome her were enough to confirm something had happened in that moment and whatever demonic influence suppressing her powers had weakened enough to open a thin channel of her Divine Mother’s energy to flow through her essence.

 _Oh, Almighty , have I missed you!_ She cried out in the ethereal realm, wanting to practically roll around in the comforting warmth she had longed to feel again. Though she was never alone, not when she had her best friend at her side, her angelic soul no longer felt the void of loneliness it had for the last several days. _You must already know, but I need to tell you anyway! I have been so busy! I’m still here! I’m protecting these darling little children as you have asked!_

A rumbling lurch in the air called her back to her dozens of eyes still staring at her, though there was something concerning in the way they gazed at her.

 _What is it, darlings?_ It was a strange feeling to talk to a part of oneself. If humans could question their arm, leg, or nose for why it was troubled or in pain knowing they could get an answer outside of what their brain supplied, it was the only comparison she could provide for how she encouraged her appendages.

Though they could not speak, her essence could feel a strange troubling awareness overcoming her. A distant whisper danced along her consciousness just then. Aziraphale focused carefully to find the words hidden in the noise.

What she found threatened to throw her into a blind panic.

_Crowley._

Once she caught it, there was no mistaking the distinction of his name. She calmed herself and urged them to explain. The silence paired with their worrying gaze told her they were not certain, but all was not as it should be. They were a part of her essence after all; when Aziraphale loved Crowley, all of her did. When she worried for him, they did too. When they noticed something was wrong, she would know.

 _Needs you_.

That was all Aziraphale needed to know.

“Amen.” The chorus of human voices rejoiced and pulled her back to the physical realm, resurfacing with a gasp and she stumbled back on unsteady feet. Her actions gained the attention of several worried glances. Someone tugged her dress, and she peered down to see Maurielle looking up at her curiously.

“Miss Fell? Are you alright?”

“Yes!” She belted, wincing when the reply was much more boisterous than she intended, and it was enough to startle Maurielle who now looked at her as if she’d suddenly lost her marbles.

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “I’m fine! Peachy! Tickety Boo, actually! Why would you think I wasn’t?” She babbled and must have been looked like a crazy old maid then judging by the way Maurielle stepped back with wide eyes to stand next to an equally startled Charlie.

“Tickety Boo? Mum, do you need to sit down?” Charlie offered.

“Sitting? Who needs to sit? Too much to do!” Aziraphale could barely speak over the sirens blaring in her head, screaming _Crowley needs you, Crowley’s in danger. To Hell with the promise, your demon needs your help._

Almighty forgive her for all the miracles she was about to perform. Gabriel would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

 _“I will be back,”_ she never gave the children a chance to so much as whimper as they opened their mouths in protest, “ _stay close to Mr. Timothy, he will protect you until I return._ ”

“Yes, Mum!” They shouted in unison. Aziraphale whipped her head back to the crowd of onlookers, who all flinched back at the force of her stare.

 _“You all will listen to Mr. Timothy and do what he says. Elders, protect the children. And Children? Mind your elders._ ”

“Yes, Mum!” All thirty-something survivors shouted in unison.

“ _Mr. Timothy?”_ She never gave Timothy a chance to so much as whimper as he opened his mouth to answer. “ _Not entirely sure what your mother fed you to make you so large, but show the world you are more than just an exquisite chef with a kind heart. Put every muscle you have into it, and save these people.”_

“YES, MUM!” Timothy roared, a toothy grin on his face suddenly as his thick arms raised to flex an impressive display of chiseled vein-throbbing muscles proudly, twisting his posture in different ways to show off an equally impressive chiseled back and shoulder muscles.

“ _And God's speed, everyone.”_ With that, Aziraphale all but sprinted down the hallway in the direction from which they came, disappearing into the shadows and toward the unknown that awaited her.

-:-

No sooner had Aziraphale exited the servant’s quarters did she run into the first Lurker in her path. And by run into, she technically barreled into the poor soul staggering around in a dazed state of confusion and knocked him to the ground.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale stepped back with hands held up calmly. “So sorry about that, my dear. Didn’t see you there!”

The Lurker, a middle-aged gardener by the looks of it, looked up at her with unfocused eyes and snarled saliva menacingly at her through clenched teeth. Without her powers, these mindless humans were quite terrifying.

But now that she had a fraction of her powers back? They were nothing more than another suffering human that needed her help.

“Poor thing,” Aziraphale cooed, taking in the man’s rumpled tattered clothing and disheveled state. There was no telling when he’d succumbed to the demonic miasma that poisoned his mortal soul, but she couldn’t imagine the horrors which plagued them beyond the poison. There was a human in there somewhere, she could feel it now; the barest inkling of God’s creation still holding on by a dying ember.

As a soldier of Her kingdom and all it stood for, this knowledge upset the Principality greatly. As her role implied; she was a guardian, a protector of Earth’s creatures. Watching as the things she swore to protect suffered so, she could not turn a blind eye to their pain.

As the Lurker stood on unsteady footing, it crouched ready to lunge. But Aziraphale was faster. She met the Lurker halfway just as he threw himself toward her, stopping him in mid-attack with a splayed hand across his chest.

A warm light glowed from her palm.

 _“Suffer no longer, child.”_ Aziraphale spoke firm, sincere, and poured love into the man’s heart pulsing erratically under her palm. The body of the creature convulsed with a whine from his frothing lips.

Alphaeus was truly a monster who deserved the worst of Heaven’s persecution after this if his selfish wants costed these innocent humans eternal damnation. Though the demonic miasma only worked on those with a history of sin weighed on the severity of their actions, who was Alphaeus to damn them? Who was he to judge them, as if he were a God among this world?

The human’s pain and torment as it writhed under the power of her healing prayers enraged her, insulted her very being, ignited a millennia-old thirst for justice. Alphaeus was no God, he was a bitter little child on a tantrum-fueled path of destruction bred from a blind vengeance because he was too weak and selfish to accept his own tragedies and learn from them like everyone else.

For that, Aziraphale promised herself and every life she could not save that he would burn for what he did without a shred of mercy.

The Lurker cried out suddenly, his twisted features melting into a fearful expression as blurry eyes cleared just enough that the angel could see a spark of recognition. His body collapsed to the ground finally, and he would not go down hard thanks to the comforting hold Aziraphale had on him as she gently helped him to the floor.

Though she could not see it, she could feel Death’s presence nearby. The angel of death did not technically need to be present in every human’s final moments, but knowing it was near was enough to tell Aziraphale this man would very soon take his last breath.

Now kneeling above the dying man, she leaned in close to continue her blessing over the sounds of his panting breaths. “ _Go gentle into that good night, child. May your sins be washed; may your soul be cleansed and be welcomed into the light of Heaven. There is nothing to fear, anymore. You are loved.”_

Scared eyes looked up at her then, and if she had not seen that expression so many times in her life on this planet she would have cried. But true to her prayers, there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be sad for. So instead of returning his look with a sad expression, the last thing he saw before his death was the comforting smile of an angel.

Aziraphale laid the man’s limp body peacefully to the ground, closed his eyes with a featherlight touch of her fingertips, and clasped his hands across his chest respectfully.

One less soul Hell would claim tonight.

Perhaps, if she were lucky, she would be able to heal more of the tortured souls wandering around these halls—

A shuffle of movement and a pained grunt somewhere close by suddenly jolted her head up in alarm, hackles raised, body tense and ready for an attack. Her hand shot up ahead of her as if she were wielding a holy blade.

She wasn’t quite sure what she would see causing so much ruckus, and her brain readied herself for a Lurker before finally acknowledging the sight in front of her. Relief and horror rushed up to flood her heart in a befuddled mixture of conflicting emotions, and a part of her almost wished it was nothing but another mindless Lurker.

The discernable dirty blond hair, barstool mustache, and hazel eyes framed by scuffed rectangular glasses had Aziraphale bolting from the floor to dash forward before the newcomer’s unsteady legs gave out.

“Doctor!” She gasped, catching his weight with two hands secured around broad shoulders, and helped to shift the man’s weight until his back was gently sliding down the wall to a sitting position. Careful not to jostle any injuries, she followed him down to the floor the same way she had done with the gardener yet gave enough space for him to breathe.

Beyond a poorly veiled scowl on his face, Copper flashed her a wobbly smirk and one welcoming eye.

“F-Fancy running into you, ma’am.” He grunted through the pain between clenched teeth. His breathing was deep but labored. As Aziraphale looked him over she noticed the way he had one arm wrapped protectively around his chest. She scanned him for blood but found only a singed hole in the fabric of his vest and button-down shirt peeking out underneath his arm.

“Copper,” she dropped the formality, “what happened to you? Where are you hurt?”

She allowed him a few moments to steady his breathing but could not wait for his reply before guessing, “…Alphaeus shot you, didn’t he?”

Copper nodded. “Would have been dead were it not for our friend.” He tried to chuckle, and to the angel’s growing dread it sounded like a pitiful attempt at one. Slowly he relaxed the arm clutching his chest, allowing the angel’s eyes to roam over the torn fabric. Something dark hid behind the fabric blocking her from seeing any sign of a wound.

The doctor sighed shakily and winced. “Whatever magic he possesses, he promised I would come out with my life in a miraculous survival—” a strained cough rattled his chest, triggering a spasm of pain that was evident to the angel in the way he coiled into it. She paled when a few specks of blood painted his chin.

“He said something about Gastrell e-enhancing his firearms, whatever the hell that meant, there was a chance I may not get out entirely unscathed. Stubborn bull that I am told him not to worry.” 

“Doctor,” Aziraphale cautioned, “…perhaps you shouldn’t speak—” He waved her off affectionately, though gave her a little smile of reassurance.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had worse.” Copper winked, which unfortunately did not help sooth the angel’s nerves.

The doctor shifted a little against the wall as if a new angle would help ease the pain. “Vest pocket,” he said, “inside, on the left, there’s a pocket. If you would be so kind…?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale reached in his pocket per his instruction, and recognized the object instantly with a terrified gasp. Opening her palm in the space between them, she unveiled Crowley’s shaded glasses. The right lens was shattered, the shards held together only by the large bullet lodged in the center.

Ice crawled into her lungs. _Crowley_ …. She shook the horrible images away.

“What happened, Copper?” Aziraphale barely recognized her own voice.

“Forgive me, but I’m not entirely sure.” He gazed at her sadly. “The force of the shot in such close range knocked my lights out. When I woke up, they were gone.”

Aziraphale’s stomach flipped. 

The doctor added, “Protz is dead.” At least there was that. And would explain why she retained some of her powers.

They fell silent, taking it all in. The angel suddenly remembered why she hated the silence in this infernal place; that damn opera was mocking them. It would be a long time before she would ever be able to listen to another Bach composition.

“I saw what you did…f-for that man,” Copper nodded over to the dead man down the hall, his breathing becoming more labored “…would you…would you give me the same pleasantry?”

Aziraphale narrowed her eyes at him curiously. “Why would you say that?”

Another pained wheeze contorted the doctor’s face as he shifted again, raising a shaking hand to hover over his left side. He spoke breathily, “four broken ribs… two of them shattered... punctured my lung.” This man, it was no wonder Crowley liked him so much, because how could someone smile like that while talking about something so horrible?

“Oh, _Copper_ …,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Ah, nothing to fret over, my dear.” As if she wouldn’t? “…’ve had them before. With this one-not sure how long this one'll play out, but…,” he let out a wet cough, “…I’d rather not dawdle—”

“Let me have a look.” Aziraphale moved before the doctor could respond, her fingers unbuttoning the vest and button-down shirt with as much gentleness as her shaking fingers could offer. The area was swollen, the abnormal lumps of broken rib bones underneath the skin almost too grizzly to look at.

Right. The angel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Copper shot her a strange look. “Unless you h-have more experience than I do in this-this field, ma’am, I’m sorry to inform—” He choked on his words when her glowing palm covered the damaged area. Aziraphale closed her eyes and focused on mending the bones back in their proper places, making sure the blood and other fluids get themselves in order so the lung could heal up nicely.

It took a fraction of a minute but once she was done, Aziraphale opened her eyes to see the expression on the doctor’s face she already knew had been there the entire time.

“….”

Aziraphale smiled primly. “There. All better.” She gave his leg a reassuring pat. “No need to thank me, good doctor. Healing is what I do best.”

His jaw dropped ungracefully. Before she could ask him to close it before the flys got in, she heard him croak. “…Same here.” His hazel eyes gave her a once over, and paused to fix her with a calculating stare.

“You’re an angel, then?”

Her smile broadened with a small nod. “Very perceptive of you, Doctor.”

Like all who have looked at Aziraphale after that stunning revelation, his mystified awe was expected. What was _not_ expected, was his follow up question.

“And Anthony?”

Ah, now that was quite the enigma. She shrugged. “Sometimes even I wonder.”

Speaking of….

Aziraphale smoothed the wrinkles from her dress and stood, leaving Copper sitting on the floor inspecting his now healed left side with a hum of approval. When she extended a hand down in a silent offer for help, he took it appreciatively and stood up. She didn’t miss the way he shook the pain out of his hand when she released her grip.

“Well, I must be off. Listen; Timothy is leading the others through a passageway from the wine cellars below. They lead to the back of the property in the farmlands. You will find them in the barn just a few acres out. Mind how you go.” With a paternal wag of her finger, Aziraphale glided around Copper and strode confidently down the hall.

“Ah…,” he stood still, most likely processing everything that was happening. He called out to her.

“Wait! A-Aziraphale, was it?”

The angel immediately paused and turned around at hearing her name from Copper’s lips.

He blanched. “That…Anthony said that was your name.” She nodded and smiled.

“Where are you off to?”

“Isn’t it obvious, good doctor?” Aziraphale smirked as she turned around to continue her confident stride. “I’m going to save my wily old serpent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale aint messing around when it comes to her demon. 
> 
> Copper is alive! haha, I'm sorry for playing on heartstrings! When I outlined the story idea back in March I planned on killing his character off, but by the teen chapters there was just no way I could. So I gave him a dramatic fake-death instead! (^3^)
> 
> All comments are welcome! Thank you for reading! <3


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback from last chapter! Copper is okay, the children are safe, and BAMF Aziraphale has resurfaced. Now we just have to find out what's happened to Crowley. 
> 
> I will have to correct myself on one thing; I've been calling this an emotional rollercoaster, but now that I think about it, it's more like an emotional train ride. D:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: typos, depictions/descriptions of death, spooky stuff, brief mentions of gore/dark elements.

After the fifth or six exorcism, Aziraphale had learned enough about the state of these corrupt souls to confirm certain theories she had come up with after the first experience. Namely, once a human’s soul was tainted to such an extent there was no way to successfully separate the poison from the soul.

Essentially, there was no salvaging the human after they were consumed and, in this case sadly, the only thing Aziraphale could promise were that these humans would be cleansed of their transgressions before their life ended.

Though the blessing was an easy feat, the difficulty laid with making sure she was able to get a firm hand on them without getting mauled.

“Now, now, there’s no reason to be nasty.” Aziraphale spoke gently as she tiptoed cautiously around her newest tortured soul while maintaining a mindful distance from it’s flailing claws and snapping jaw. Though the first-level corridor she found herself occupying allowed enough room for moving around without risking a chunk taken out.

With some last-second decisions, the Lurker was secured inside a small circle the angel had constructed with a few well-placed miracles. In the tiny circle, the monster paced around in its small cage. Whatever it could see beyond its unfocused stare, Aziraphale was certain the unblinking glare it fixed her with promised she would be its next meal if it ever found a way out.

The angel eased toward the circle, closer now than she had tempted earlier once the Lurker had calmed somewhat. Holding her hands up in a sign of peace, she was unsure if it understood the sentiment.

“That’s it, dear,” she whispered, “it’s alright. If you just…stay there, I can—”

The Lurker, a blond-haired woman possibly in her late thirties, did not hesitate to throw her body against the invisible barrier of the circle in a mindless effort to attack Aziraphale. The sigil underneath her feet lit up, and the angel could not help but wince as the static jolted the woman’s body back with a sizzling hiss. The woman’s screech was unsettling.

“I’m sure that did not feel good.” Aziraphale tried to coax her, knowing it was useless but continued her attempts, nonetheless. “I’m sorry I cannot save you, my dear, but if you would just stop swiping at me long enough—.”

The Lurker let out an enraged screech, and the angel slumped her shoulders tiredly. Honestly, this was getting her nowhere. If she used blunt force, she could risk damaging the remnants of the human somewhere still inside this creature.

After a few tense minutes, the Lurker seemed to calm down enough for Aziraphale to try again. Fortunately, the closer she got the woman did not lash out again. Finally, some progress! With only a few more feet to cross, the angel would be within just the right proximity to carry out the exorcism.

Before she could cover the distance, a gunshot cracked through the air somewhere to the right of them and stunned Aziraphale back with hands over her ears. Once the terrible ringing subsided, the angel looked to the Lurker with startled eyes only to see the sigil dissipating away into ashes of gold. In the space where the circle once was now laid the crumpled body of a dead woman, blood from the gunshot wound to her temple pooling slow and sluggish around her.

Aziraphale could not stop the full-body tremble which overcame her but could not discern if it were from witnessing the gruesome murder or the rage which threatened to consume her. Arms going limp at her sides, she clenched her fists tightly in anger and turned her head in the direction of where the gunshot came from. 

There were two ways to enter the corridor; the left one which Aziraphale now stood next to, and the right entryway on the far side which opened into the grand hall. It was a well-lit area, so when the angel saw no one standing there it raised the small blond hairs on the back her of neck. More concerning than that was the soft fading trail of smoke and faintest whiff of gunpowder coming from that area.

An unseen force bore down on Aziraphale before the slightest wisp of warm air crawled over the short curls near her ear, triggering a wave of shivers down her spine when the barest brush of lips met the shell of her ear.

“ _That wasn’t so hard_.”

The angel almost screamed but settled for a startled gasp and ripped herself away from the presence nearly on top of her now desperate to put space between herself and whose voice seeped like poison inside her ears.

 _Foolish_ , she scolded herself. Allowing anything to get that close to her without her noticing was a blunder she would not make again. It only took a few seconds of disorientation, seconds that could have taken her life if she didn’t keep her attention sharper.

Aziraphale steeled her furious expression at the Duke hoping at any second it would wipe that hideous razor-tooth grin from his twisted face. Blue flames danced in her irises and burned with a righteous need to justly smite.

“Your assistance was _not_ warranted.” The angel spoke low and firm like the soldier she was, staring at Alphaeus like the enemy on a battlefield. The imagery was fitting. Hands balled into fists at her sides as a soft golden glow emitted from her palms to slip through her fingers.

His grin finally morphed into an exaggerated pout. Leaning his weight to one hip, Alphaeus tilted his head.

“ _You’re welcome_ for me stepping in and killing that thing—”

“You made these _things_!” Aziraphale interrupted with a scalding sneer. “Your head must be full of air if you think you deserve praise.”

Alphaeus’ brows shot up near enough to touch his gnarled horns. He leaned back on his heels and placed his hands on his hips, and it looked as though he did that only to cover up the momentary shock of the angel’s temper. That’s right; he hadn’t seen her wrathful side yet.

Well, he was certainly in for a show.

He blinked. “…you got me there, I deserved that one.” He relented with a considerate nod. Aziraphale did not falter at the Duke’s lighthearted reaction after being outright insulted. Her feet shifted very slowly for more grounding, inch by inch steadying herself for whatever surprises he had up his sleeves.

“Got some power back, I see?” He tested her or teased her she couldn’t decipher which. “Good for you.” He pulled his lips back for another grin, and now it was glaringly obvious he was teasing her. Blown black pupils roamed over her appearance, the admiration in his stare making her toes curl.

“So it seems.” Aziraphale bit back.

As he spoke, Alphaeus brought one hand up to wag a long pointer finger back and forth in rhythm with the way he shook his head. “Careful, little angel. I may decide you a greater threat.” The way he said it, low and mockingly sweet coated over an ominous warning.

“That’s unfortunate; you should have decided that from the very beginning.” It felt much too good throwing that smugness back in his face.

Judging by the way his grin melted to a straight line across his face, her comment struck a chord.

“It’s that kind of poor decision making a fledgling like yourself would make that will also be your downfall, dear boy.” Aziraphale pushed forward, by now forgoing the need to breathe or blink to keep her focus more acute. At this level of concentration, there was no way he could move fast enough without her seeing it.

Alphaeus curled his upper lip and it seemed for once he could not think of a good counter past the anger buzzing over his aura.

He moved toward her faster than a blink of an eye and it was a good thing Aziraphale stopped blinking. It did not mean he didn’t move faster than she expected, because for a fledgling he moved impressively quick, but she had both anticipated and prepared for it.

Alphaeus was suddenly in front of her, towering inches above and over her with his strange new mass and she remembered him being significantly leaner than the hulking stature he carried now.

“Think that spark of energy is enough to—”

That _spark of energy_ came rushing forth from her open hand the instant she sailed it into his sternum. In a fantastic display of bright light and explosive crackles, Alphaeus flew back a few yards across the corridor before just barely catching his footing for a rough landing short of skidding back and landing on his ass.

Try as she might, Aziraphale could no longer fight the smirk when she straightened herself with a few generous pats of her dress and watched Alphaeus hunch forward painfully, a wide hand splayed over his chest where she blasted him. It also knocked a few obedient jet-black locks of hair from his slicked back hairdo, hanging limply around his horns and on his face to curtain a dumbfounded expression. A shame, Aziraphale would have preferred more but she’d take what she could get.

“Your quicker than the average fledgling, I’ll give you that.” Aziraphale smiled sweetly once the Duke whipped his head up to look at her. The many emotions that flashed across his face in those tense seconds were unlike anything she had ever seen. This creature was teeming with energy in every fiber of his being, there was no telling the impacts it had on his mental state.

Perhaps an Achilles heel of some sort?

“You can stop this,” she spoke quietly, slipping in divine persuasion while the crack in his resolve had yet to mend. “ _You can still honor your mother appropriately, Alphaeus. Fix this madness, no more people have to die._ ”

If what Alphaeus said next was intended as a distraction, he succeeded with flying colors.

Squinting his eyes, the demon-eater seemed momentarily confused. “…who?”

Aziraphale physically startled and did not mean to take a step back but decided not to draw attention to it. Mimicking his expression, she answered slowly. “Your mother?” The genuine befuddlement on his face nearly throttled the angel’s heart. She swallowed down the dread thickly before challenging him, “you must know who I’m referring to?”

Like night and day, his confusion became swift anger-rich indignance and stood straight despite his jagged movement. One hand rubbed over the singed front of his vest where she had struck him, clearly obsessing over it in his mind.

“Do _not_ speak to me of my mother,” Alphaeus spat, and sputtered, like an angry child caught in a lie. It was obvious he was not lying about anything he said, because what the angel saw was a raw moment of memory lapse, and that confirmed an obvious fact about this creature.

He was _not_ well. And not in the sense of someone who ate a demon heart, or twenty, to turn people into monsters so he could hunt them like animals to satisfy some sick need for personal vengeance over his deceased mother. No, it was the kind of _not well_ that meant Alphaeus was losing sight of himself, a classic example of a motto she always said proudly; evil always contained the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well-planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish.

Aziraphale could never determine whether basking in the glow of being proven right was invented by her lot or Crowley's. 

“You cracked my sternum.” Alphaeus stated offhandedly.

“You took my demon.” Aziraphale countered off the heels of his comment.

Perhaps she had jumped the gun a little with that proclamation, as it lit a mischievous fire in the bottomless pit of his black pools. He sucked his lips in between his teeth like he was struggling to keep in either a hilarious joke or juicy secret only he would find entertaining, and it did awful things to Aziraphale’s heart.

She would not let him have the upper hand. Quickly, she commanded him. “ _You’re losing yourself to your own madness, Alphaeus. You forgot your own reason for these atrocities—_ ”

“Ahp, ahp!” He pointed at her with one long finger, his trademark grin ever present as his other hand smoothed back the hair from his face. “My turn, sweet fawn,” he curled the finger back to point at himself, “quid pro quo.”

“I will do no such thing with you.” Aziraphale scoffed.

He shook it off with a wave of his hand. “Point is! All this…,” he waved that same hand over her physique, “attitude and play-pretend bravado because of him?”

She would not dignify that with an answer. "If you all of this stop now there may be a sliver of hope your soul can be saved.”

“How kind,” Alphaeus placed a hand to his heart in mock sincerity, “and how sad that you consider me so daft that I can’t tell your little performance is for that foolish snake?” He had the audacity to look at her as if she were some pitiful being.

 _Breathe_. Unfortunately, it was then she realized she turned that mechanism off and that was all it took for her temper to snap. Gold swirled into her irises as their ocean-hue burned a vibrant sapphire. The small blond hairs on her arms stood in the fray of static heat hovering above her skin.

“Foul creature, you know _nothing_ of what you speak.” Aziraphale snarled in a way so completely unlike herself she considered backtracking from what could be another well-placed trap. When she continued, she kept her tone level. 

“Where is he?”

“That’s not how it works, dear—”

“—you are in no position to tell me how things should work.” Aziraphale held a luminous hand up in warning. Any moment he could draw one of his enchanted firearms and open fire, and the reason he had yet to was simple; her attack from earlier seemed to do more damage than just physical. It was quite possible he held little knowledge about angels than he did about demons, and if this little observation was true it was a saving grace for her.

What was equally true was that with her powers so dampened they were not enough to destroy this creature, but as long as _he_ remained ignorantly unaware it would serve as a powerful tool in Aziraphale’s belt.

The way he narrowed his black eyes at her when she threatened him confirmed some of her suspicions, however what Alphaeus lacked in knowledge he made up for with tricks and an itinerary planned out months in advance.

“Fussy thing, you are.” Alphaeus grumbled.

“So I’m told.” The angel retorted.

“And a spoilsport.” The Duke suddenly pouted, slouching his shoulders petulantly with a hand on one hip and the other scratching the back of his head in such a blasé fashion it only served to infuriate the angel.

“I will repeat myself only once. Where. Is. He.” She was done with questions. She wanted answers.

Alphaeus stared at her, scrutinizing everything from her words to her posture and she would not allow him the gratification of making her squirm, so she stared back with equal magnitude. Whether it was an attempt to fool her, some sick powerplay, or just a genuine moment of contemplation was lost on the angel who was now beyond the point of trying to understand him.

One threatening step forward from the angel caused the demented creature to blanch a little with an impressive smirk. He tilted his head to the side again, gazing at her from a new angle. Her heart raced as the seconds dragged on, her brain trying to supply her own impatient want for answers with terrible visions she tampered down.

The snap of his fingers was quick, and suddenly the castle filled with a silence she had not heard since before the opera began to play. Why he decided at that moment to stop the music was a worrying thought.

“Fine,” he sighed, holding up both hands in mock surrender. “If he’s worth _so much_ trouble….”

Only a slight nod back, his eyes never leaving hers, Alphaeus sang out to the air behind him.

“Oh, _Butler!_ ”

Butler. A painful lurch in her chest almost fooled her into the thinking this monster had managed to shoot her in the heart before she could realize it, and she almost preferred that possibility over what she saw unfold.

Aziraphale retracted her daring step forward from earlier to take two back in open-mouthed horror, eyes losing their righteous fury the instantly she saw her demon appear from behind Alphaeus. The way he walked reminded her of the few occurrences she had caught him sleepwalking; a dazed sluggish stride telling her was no longer in control. Gone were the blackout glasses, the cobra-headed cane, his billowing cloak, the goofy stylish top hat, replaced by the dim yellow hue of an unfocused stare on a gaunt stoic face.

Scales glistened across one side of his neck to disappear behind the collar of his shirt, patches vibrant black scales with tones of red over the back of his hands stopped where elongated claws replaced blunt manicured nails. His slack-jawed expression was partly due to his delirium and the enlarged size of his fangs, which extended just past his bottom lip and it was at that moment she stared at them he let out a low growl from his throat.

“C-Crowley.” Aziraphale should not have trusted her voice then, because as soon as Alphaeus heard her broken cry his face was alive with delight and excitement at the knowledge he regained control.

When Crowley stopped walking, he stood quietly to Alphaeus’ left like it was natural. All of a sudden Aziraphale found herself too terrified to move or even try to tear her eyes away from her demon. _This isn’t happening._

“What’s wrong? You don’t look so happy to see him.” Alphaeus taunted, because of course he would. “This is what you asked for, right?”

Aziraphale could not focus on anything outside of Crowley, watching those eyes meet hers and finding nothing in them soon realized what true fear felt like; she couldn’t get to him, even as he stood right in front of her, she hated how much farther away she was from finding her demon.

“What was I to do?” Alphaeus feigned guilt in the most demented fashion. “Just let Protz’ responsibilities pile up on my plate? Let’s be honest, that sounds dreadful. Besides,” to her growing horror he turned his attention to Crowley and with the back of his hand caressed one sharp cheekbone affectionately, “he’s much too lovely a specimen for me to eat yet—”

“ _Don’t touch him._ ” Aziraphale’s snarl shook the foundation around them, her enraged scorn knocking paintings from the walls around hem and shattered a window somewhere nearby. Almighty forgive her; She _must_ know by now She had created at least one angel with the capacity for hate.

And oh, how she hated Alphaeus.

The angel half expected the monster to react in some way to her fury, and she was only half wrong when the second he opened his mouth to comment he snapped it shut and joined her shocked stare at Crowley who suddenly stepped forward in a threatening crouch, lips peeling back in a manner better suited for an animal warning it’s attacker it wasn’t afraid to use them. Unfocused serpentine eyes locked onto hers without a shred of recognition outside of his blind rage.

He looked rabid, staring at her with depraved starvation she did not recognize. Aziraphale let out a pained gasp despite herself as her fury dissolved into panic.

“Was _not_ expecting that!” Alphaeus belted out in laughter.

“Crowley…my dearest, where are you?” It wasn’t hard to muster up enough tears to gloss over her concerned expression now desperate for a hint of her Crowley hiding somewhere inside his own subconscious. If he saw her at all, she wouldn’t break the promise she made to him.

“I’ll find you.” Aziraphale stared into his eyes hoping it would carry those words to wherever he was. The angel always made sure her demon knew she would never hurt him, would rather tear herself apart first.

Would there ever come a day she would have to? It was never an impossible query, just one that mortified her enough to push the thought down into the recesses of her mind. The angel always knew she was a tad stronger than Crowley, despite all his huffing and puffing in protest, but right now they were on far ends of matched strength; her quick wit versus his reckless abandon were extremes she never thought would be tested against each other.

“Careful, dear.” Alphaeus came back into existence suddenly and unfortunately for her. “He _does_ play a good guard dog, after all. What a go-getter! Little rough around the edges, but he’ll catch on with time.”

When Aziraphale didn’t respond, he turned to her curiously. As expected, this demented creature mistook her silence and twisted it in the opposite direction.

“It appears someone is having second thoughts.” He sounded so sure of himself, the angel wanted to slap a Hail Mary on that smug dimpled face.

“Fortunately for you, I’m a giving man.” That comment made her hand flinch into a fist. He was relentless. “Last chance, Aziraphale…,” he leaned in and derided her as if he knew the leagues behind those words, “you can be on _our side_.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he finished with a painful blow to her heart. “I’ll throw in an extra incentive; a present! A beautiful necklace with Anthony’s eyes encased in diamonds. You can wear them around your lovely neck whenever you like.”

The castle groaned under the pressure of Aziraphale’s spiritual flare. Gold-sapphire eyes opened into existence, not quite the million-eyed glare it should be, but dozens upon dozens of them glared into the mutated sin of Alphaeus’ soul.

They did not go unnoticed; Aziraphale had never seen Alphaeus look so scared as he had for a fleeting moment yet not quick enough for her eyes to miss. He recovered quickly, or more like hid behind his slipping veil of megalomaniac lunacy.

“Or you can stay on your own. Mother always said to stick by the decisions you make. You lived up to that spectacularly.” Alphaeus gazed at her with a fond smile, like he was remembering a departed soul.

Thank God for small miracles. A quick snap shattered the icy fear keeping her legs from moving and shifted her footing in preparation for something her body registered faster than her brain.

_“Oh…,” fuck._

With a forceful shove to Crowley’s shoulder, it pitched the serpent demon forward to unleash a guttural snarl aimed straight for her fueled by the goading thrust.

“Kill this fucking angel.” Alphaeus commanded.

No sooner had Aziraphale launched herself backwards, Crowley lunged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run Aziraphale!! D: I won't be surprised if I see some pitchforks resurface again (◑.◑) I deserve them lol.
> 
> I wonder what our brave angel will do now! Also, some plot points were addressed in this chapter for the future ones. 
> 
> Lastly, I have to shout out at this line:  
> "Evil always contained the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well-planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder on the rocks of iniquity and vanish." -Aziraphale. LOVED that little bit with him in Crowley's car in ep.2. could not help myself.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I always love reading your wonderful feedback, opinions, theories, they bring me life!! Thank you for reading!


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a glutton for that wonderful feedback, guys! I'm spoiled rotten by it! Couldn't wait to get this chapter out after responding to all the amazing comments last chapter. Thank you!
> 
> Shoutout Time! Some awesome people referenced below. Thank you so much for your fanart! <333 
> 
> Chai_Muffin's work:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344668/chapters/58703347
> 
> Tarpiteyes' work:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/search/what+lies+in+the+castle+walls
> 
> Tissue boxes ready, everyone! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: typos, lotta angst, depictions of violence, spooky elements~

Aziraphale had the displeasure of finding out this century’s fashion simply did not have the comfort nor design which allowed one to successfully sprint for dear life from an assailant.

Her arms _could_ have been used to assist her speed but were unfortunately too occupied with holding up bunches of her dress so her legs had more room and less resistance to sprint. And her breasts, oh the poor things, were given absolutely no support in the corset as they bounced painfully against the forces of gravity with each propelled stomp.

It was these blind spots in human ingenuity that resulted in frivolous miracles. Even if she were graced with an opportunity to perform a few to alter her dress for better performance, the angel would need a moment to figure out just how to appropriately shape the damn outfit to better suit her disposition.

Unfortunately for Aziraphale, Crowley moved much too fast for any chance for improvement. The instant his long body launched toward her with claws extended, the only thing she could concentrate on was avoiding anything which could break her momentum; remembering to turn sharp corners or avoiding staircases were crucial, and any room for split-second decisions at the moment were solely reserved for determining whether to turn left or right.

By this logic, the angel managed to put enough distance between her and Crowley, so he wasn’t practically on her heels as he had been the last few minutes. The warm huffs of his jagged breathing along the back of her neck were not pleasant sensations when she knew she could not risk a glance over her shoulder in fear of slowing herself down or colliding into a wall.

Left, right, right, left, the maze of hallways and interconnecting rooms were passing her in a blur. No matter how fast she turned, how quick she cut corners, the serpent demon’s speed was unforgiving. It was as though he were just toying with her somehow.

“C-Cr- _dear me-_ Crowley!” Aziraphale panted erratic and breathless between bursts of air in and out of her tired lungs. “Lord _above,_ we are going… _hah…t_ -to’ave a-a-a,” another left turn and leap, “ _serious chat about this later!”_

She felt the approaching gust against her back and ducked her head in a plum of wild blond hair just in time for the whoosh of claws swiping through the air, narrowly avoiding her head and most likely rewarded the demon with only a few severed strands of hair.

Thankfully, the attempt slowed him down enough for her to gain more distance ahead of him.

Similar to the panicked thoughts when she was running through these halls to find the children days prior, Aziraphale did _not_ run. It was just a fact. She’d seen cities burn and civilizations fall under military takeover and God’s wrath, but even then, she did _not_ run. Only Crowley would be enough a reason to make her run faster than she’d ever thought possible, the bastard.

“Dearest,” she continued despite the burning in her chest, “there…will be-be a lot of debt…to be paid for this!” Possession be damned, Crowley would spend the rest of this century and next owing her for all the unwanted cardio.

Speaking of, the next quick step to the right led her down a long hallway of guestrooms had her chance a daring glance over one shoulder when his presence no longer felt overbearingly close. Aziraphale distantly wondered if she had somehow managed to outrun him, which was most likely an impossibility but not a guaranteed one.

When she looked behind her, there was no one.

Strange, she thought, but not enough to lower her guard. The rushing sound of scales against the floor whipped her head around and down until her chin met her chest, and she caught the blur of a spindly body slithering ahead of her from the space between her legs.

Before she could so much as squeak in surprise, Crowley’s serpent form curled around her legs with an unyielding force that fortunately kept her from falling to the floor. So, he could still transform? Good to know. The fortunate part about being at odds with this specific adversary was that Aziraphale had grown to know this adversary for thousands of years. Now knowing there were certain predictable aspects to Crowley’s mindless behavior was a saving grace.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Aziraphale threw her arms up over her head before the demon’s long serpent body could render them useless against her torso with his strength.

“Forgive me, my dear.” She gasped hurriedly. Giving a quick kiss to her illuminated palm, she sailed her open hand to the area she projected his face to be, and was so confident she had no intention of celebrating her luck when, as expected, her attack landed on the intended target.

_“Let there be light!”_

It was not just a smack, because Aziraphale was not a cruel angel, it was a stun tactic; a heavenly light flashed in the cramped space of the hallway, a flare so bright it ripped a startled hiss from Crowley and immediately his body uncoiled in retreat to writhe in confusion. Taking full advantage of his stunned state, Aziraphale swiveled on one heel and took off down the remaining length of the hallway to round the next corner.

The kiss promised no permanent damage and no harm, but Aziraphale did wonder if her actions would result in one very enraged serpent demon. Hopefully, she would not have to cross that bridge to deal with it anytime soon and he would not remember it.

A litany of troubled little noises fell from the angel’s lips as she continued her run. Where she would go next, she had no idea. Where her destination led her, not a clue. The only singular thought in her mind racing faster than her aching feet was _run, run, run, run._

And so Aziraphale did. For minutes that felt like eons, she ran through the maze of hallways and rooms. There was no point in hiding, he would find her. With ethereal beings, sight wasn’t the only variable to rely on.

The next turn around a corner had her feet scrambling for traction as she slid across the floor in her attempt to shift her momentum, and with only a few successfully grounded steps soon skidded to an abrupt halt with a gut-wrenching realization.

A dead end.

It should not have been as surprising as it was to see the punishing barrier of stone walls staring back at her from all sides save for the space behind her. This infernal castle, or the builders who thought it necessary to cut this part off from the rest of the area, she wasn’t sure who to direct the new surge of desperate irritation.

Did she have time to backtrack? Aziraphale had not sensed Crowley’s presence since her divine flash-bang, had not considered an estimated time of recovery from her attack—

The next thing Aziraphale knew, her arms were gripped in a forceful hold from behind her, claws imbedding into the fabric of her clothing thankfully stopping before they could break through her pale skin. She had no time to be thankful for it before her entire being buckled under a powerful thrust forward, her body twisting until her back met the unforgiving solidity of the stone wall she was staring at only seconds ago. The back of her head bounced at the momentum, yet the barrette’s in her hair still holding together what remained of her neat bun cushioned the impact.

Vision blurry and disoriented, the angel’s eyes struggled to focus. A large hand clasped onto the expanse of her collarbone, long fingers wrapping claws around her neck with a thumb curled across her jugular. Whether it was from the disorientation or that Crowley was just that fast, Aziraphale did not realize until too late that her wrists were captured in one powerful clawed hand and pinned high above her head.

Aziraphale found herself staring at the expanse of Crowley’s throat, his skin rippling between scales and tan flesh from the rim of his collar and up his sharp jaw. She raised her head up to look at his face and winced; though dazed as they were, yellow colored irises meant he was at least complacent to some extent. When they consumed the sclera around them in a molten orange, she knew to be concerned.

More concerning was the fleeting thought flashing through Aziraphale’s mind as soon as she took in the terrifying details of his face; this was Crowley, _her_ Crowley, who stood on the great wall of Eden with her so long ago, the same demon who tempted her into ordering two deserts instead of one, who’s smile beamed when she fussed _unangelically,_ and who’s intimate embrace she had only come to know recently.

It didn’t feel right, none of this did. Her Crowley wasn’t _this_ Crowley, who stared at her like a predator gazing hungrily at freshly caught prey. The terrifying sight of her best friend’s unrecognizable face brought tears to her eyes. Through a wobbling chin, she whimpered “ _Crowley_ ….”

A warning snarl through gnarled lips was her only response. Stronger than her heaving breaths came a choked sob as a wave of fear washed over her, desperation settling in heavy and dreadful upon her and yet not for herself.

His mouth opened wide to flash long gleaming fangs at her. The angel watched with wide eyes as his forked tongue fluttered over the animalistic hiss. Crowley’s venom felt hot in the shared air of their proximity.

 _Almighty, please…if you’re there, please help. Help Crowley._ Aziraphale watched his head tilt in an angle, giving himself a wider opening to her pale throat, as the clawed thumb over her jugular pushed her head to the side.

The angel continued her prayer. _Help him forgive himself if I fail…._

“Cr-Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, blinking the tears down her cheeks to see him properly. “If…if you can hear me,” she paused to let him finish his hiss, “I-I know you…I know _you_ , and if you can’t fight this, my dear, you will never forgive yourself—”

Another low hiss danced on his forked tongue ended in a rough huff through his nostrils. He pressed his taught frame into hers, unlike the way he had in their most intimate moments this one was dominating, immobilizing. She felt trapped, and strangely claustrophobic.

“Please, darling,” it was a last-ditch effort, a fairytale cliché she considered because why the hell not at this point? “Come back. Don’t let him—don’t let him take you away from me.” The small sobs were becoming too hard to keep down, hitching her poor lungs with each erratic breath.

Igneous eyes enlarged, slit pupils contracting to slivers. He twitched but did not move to strike her.

“My love,” Aziraphale cried softly now too weak to keep her promise to him. One job, she scolded herself, one job he had trusted her with, and she couldn’t be strong enough for him, “my love, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” she shook her head weakly, “I’m sorry I never shared this world with you the way you wanted,” she was just babbling now, her heart beating against her ribs. Her essence blared sirens and lashed out in a fit of cries to stop him, instincts begging to _attack him, attack this demon._ The angel knew she would never be capable of acting on that.

Unable to bare it any longer, she closed her eyes and trembled as his body suddenly moved forward. “ _I will always love you, Crowley. Please don’t hate yourself for this.”_ If these were going to be her last words, then at least he couldn’t say she was too _holy_ to not stubbornly take that to her grave. A distant part of her registered the strange fact that his grip, while firm and tenacious, was not painful.

For an eerily long while, nothing happened. And that was odd; surely by now the demonic venom would have flowed into her bloodstream from his fangs which should have been deeply imbedded into her neck. By now, both her corporation and ethereal bodies should be breaking down in a searing agony.

So, when what should have happened did not happen, Aziraphale bravely popped her eyes opens and braced herself.

Instead of a dramatically Shakespearean-style tragic death, something in those last few seconds froze Crowley in mid-strike. It would have been very touching if the reason behind his hesitation were her desperate pleas, though the way his pupils were practically pushing at the corners of his eyes at something behind him made her realize whatever caught his attention immediately took precedence.

Crowley retracted slightly, giving her the opportunity to shift a little so she could see the reason for his intense focus.

Near the corner rounding into the small dead-end hallway they were occupying stood Alphaeus. A chirpy little smile accompanied an excited look in his eyes as he stood there quietly bouncing on the balms of his feet like an energetic child. Hands clasped behind his back, he watched them expectantly.

Though the scene was still very horrifying, an uncomfortably awkward feeling settled in the air around all three of them. Slowly, Crowley turned his head until he was side-eying the Duke with that same deadly silence marred with caution.

Aziraphale looked at Alphaeus, then to Crowley, and back to Alphaeus with building anxiety. Boyishly happy met deliriously possessed in the weirdest stare-down the angel had ever witnessed.

After much delay, the Duke finally seemed to come to the same odd realization of their awkward staring contest. He blinked dumbly.

“What?”

Crowley stared.

Alphaeus excused himself with a flashy wave. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m just here for the show—”

When Crowley suddenly let out a loud snarl, it was a good thing Aziraphale was backed up against a wall because the sound startled her back. The demon-eater mimicked her same reaction.

Recovering quickly, Alphaeus raised his arms and shrugged. “ _What?”_ He scrunched his brows at the red-headed demon currently rolling a long growl from his peeled-back lips. “You want privacy? _Really?”_

The daring idiot tried to take a step forward and took two back hurriedly when Crowley _barked_ out a warning vicious and feral in a way the angel had never heard from her demon. His tall thin frame hunched over Aziraphale, crowding into her space as his grip on her collarbone and her bound wrists tightened possessively. She tensed in preparation for his talons to puncture her flesh when he clenched and was relieved when she barely felt a single prick.

Alphaeus was good at changing his expressions, but this was the first time she had ever seen him appear utterly flabbergasted. He twitched. “You _must_ be joking—oh. _Ohhohoho, you dog!_ ” A belly deep chuckle shook his broad shoulders the moment he realized something rather hilarious.

Whatever it was he found so funny went right over Aziraphale’s head. It also made the Duke put his hands to hips to ground himself as he leaned back with laughter. “Jolly good stuff. It’s your first day, so I won’t be cross with you. Consider this a gift.” Another step back confirmed Alphaeus was retreating for now. _Retreating?_ A curious choice of phrase, she thought.

Just before turning to round the corner, the creature threw one thick arm behind him to brandish his trusty shotgun from the holster on his back. Tapping the long barrel against the palm of his other hand, the parting smile he gave Crowley was hollow, hollower than the rotted trunk of a dead tree in her eyes.

“Fuck her _while_ you eat her for all I care. Just be quick about it and come find me when you’re done, I’ll be hunting in the dining hall.” And with those horrid last words, he was gone.

That was a lot to process, even for an ethereal being. Seconds passed before Aziraphale could no longer hold in her breath, which was more movement compared to Crowley’s frozen body. He had yet to stop staring at the space where Alphaeus once stood. Perhaps he was listening rather than watching? It was pure insanity not being able to predict her serpent.

Instantly, Crowley was back to life; ripping one clawed hand from her to raise it in the air, he snapped his fingers and the wall to their left opened outward too quiet for a large door-sized mass of stone to be. More importantly, was that door always there?

Aziraphale would not get a chance to dig into that question. The hold around her wrists dropped to her arm and she was thrusted forward before her trembling arms could drop back to her sides. He dragged her into the new room, barely giving her feet a chance to keep up. Once they were through the threshold, she was shoved further into the room. Her tumble down to the floor was not the result of the shove despite how it appeared, rather her inability to walk properly on buckling knees.

Something snapped in the angel and she was not sure what tipped her over the edge, she was not sure of anything anymore. Her heart’s rhythmic drum beats remained a grounding weight to reality, and it was not enough. She closed her eyes, desperation near-hysterical at this point, to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

The footsteps around her were close and she could feel Crowley’s presence standing over her—

“Aziraphale?”

Hysteria-induced hallucinations, what a lovely experience. A mocking one, too. There was no way he called out to her so softly just now, it was cruel, beyond cruel—

Weight dropped in front of her, so close she could feel the impact against the hard floor. Hands, not claws, caught her wrists and pulled her gently forward into solid warmth.

“ _N-No—!”_

“Sshh, Angel…Angel it’s me. I’m alright, I’m okay, look at me,” she couldn’t _possibly_ , “…please, Angel.”

Despite herself, Aziraphale opened her eyes and made a wounded noise when two beautiful honey-yellow eyes gazed at her. Concern pinched his brows together, fear paled his complexion, all for her.

They stared at each other for an indistinguishable amount of time. Aziraphale, too scared to blink in fear he really was a hallucination, searched for any trace of deception only to sob when she found _him_. Good lord, it was _him_. The angel opened her mouth, and no words could get past the lump in her throat save for a soft cry.

“ _Crowley?”_ She sounded no older than Maurielle.

Crowley gazed at her like his heart had shattered. He swallowed. “I’m sorry. Angel I— _Satan_ , I never meant to scare you like this, I’m so sorry.” The pads of his thumbs smoothed circles against the soft skin of her wrists, an action she never wanted to stop yet found herself coiling away from.

“I-I don’t understand…,” it was barely a question.

“Aziraphale, are you hurt anywhere? Never meant to hurt you, _never_ , just needed to make it look—Angel?”

There was no telling what expression Crowley saw on the angel’s face, but it threw the demon into a scramble forward with shaking fingers smoothing across the sides of her face into her hair until wide palms cupped her flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he kissed the apology into her forehead, “Angel, I’m so sorry,” he kissed each tear stained cheek and pressed his forehead against hers to help stop her shaking, “I wanted to tell you, swear I did.” He swallowed thickly. “I couldn’t—not with him there. He’d know—couldn’t let that’appen.” Fingers scrambled over her blond hair smoothing wild locks back, and _love_ of all things emanated from his touch. So real, too real. This was her Crowley.

“You were so brave, Angel. Christ, you went through so much. I’m sorry—”

“You…” Aziraphale pattered out weakly, her fingers now pulling and grasping as if she were starving for every inch of him. Crowley welcomed her frantic hands, letting her strength tug him into a messy embrace.

“I’m here, Angel. M’right here.” His voice, God how she missed it. Knowing she came so close to losing it…or believing she had, right?

“You…,” Aziraphale tried again this time breathlessly.

“Saw you stare him down, those _eyes_ , damn brilliant. _Damn_ brilliant, Angel,” she was too busy listening to the words to notice his hands left her face to slip around her soft frame bringing their bodies together.

“You—how did you…?” She stopped herself in exchange for a more pressing question. “When did you…?”

Thankfully, Crowley already knew what she was trying to say and the sudden cringy way he leaned back told her she may not like what she heard next. He scrunched his nose before answering tepidly, “ah…f-for a while there, yeah?” Whatever look he saw on her face caused him to hurriedly add, “Angel, there’s _a lot_ I need to fill you in on, trust me. The last couple of hours have been _insane_ , but you-you’re in no condition for that right now so let’s first focus on you—”

 _In no condition_ , he says. The muscle under Aziraphale right eyelid spasmed, so did the muscles in her cheeks when they twitched in what appeared to be a poor attempt at a smile but was far from one.

“You…” She exhaled.

Crowley bobbed his head up and down. “Yes, it’s me. I’m here, Angel. I promise.”

“You…” She inhaled.

The serpent was clearly not understanding what she was trying to say, continuing to nod vigorously. “It’s alright, I’ve warded the room. I think we played it off well enough, Alphaeus shouldn’t notice unless we take too long. Oh, yeah that’s right! I need to tell you.”

_‘We’ played it off well enough?_

“You…”

Crowley’s brows scrunched. “…Angel? Are you al—?”

“You _bastard!_ ” Aziraphale hissed, in a burst of anger twisting her angelic features. Without knowing, she threw her open palms into his chest _hard_ and watched him flail unbalanced before landing on his back sprawled across the floor. God, did she love him, but God did she want to hurt him.

“Ow! A-Angel, what the—?!” Crowley cut himself off with a high-pitched shout as the enraged angel pitched herself forward until she sat perched on his hips, pinning him between her thick thighs. Their positions were certainly familiar, and on any other occasion would have blossomed a rosy blush on her cheeks.

This was _not_ that occasion.

Ignoring his faintly scared expression, Aziraphale allowed her face to convey the full extent of her fury; lips twitching, nose scrunched, and nostrils flared, her blue eyes threatened to drown him under the intensity of their raging storms.

She reared one arm back, pulling her strength out of love for him, and punched him in the chest.

“ _Ouch_!” The demon flinched, trying in vain to shield himself with his long arms but Aziraphale would not give him the chance. She punched him again, and again, and again. “Angel! _Angel!_ Ouch-c-cut it out—!”

“Wily bastard! _We_ played that off?! _We,_ Crowley?!” Every rhetorical question ended and started with a punch or a slap. There was no angle, no inch of space he could block to prevent her from getting through and landing a controlled smacks.

“ _Ergh_ — _shit_ , that one hurt—I know! But listen—!”

“ _You_ listen!” Aziraphale barked between whacks. “You have _any_ idea,” she swatted his forehead, “what I just went through,” a stinging slap to his neck made him squeal, “you looked _horrid_ , Crowley! Terrifying, you were-were raving mad!”

“St-Stop hitting me— _owgh,_ I had to play the part, Aziraphale! He would have caught on otherwi— _nrrgk,_ that was my ear!” Crowley hissed and brought his hand rub away the sting.

Aziraphale’s blows were not hard enough to hurt or bruise, but the sting matched the one in her heart and at first she wanted nothing more to make him feel that same sensation all over, but even after all this it only served to make her feel worse. Slouching forward in a messy curtain of blond curls, she balanced her weight with shaking hands on his chest. The fabric under her fingers bunched under her curled fingers. Frustrated tears fell from her lashes to darken small spots in his clothing and she felt the warm splashes on the back of her hands.

“Thought you—” a powerful sob wracked her shoulders “—thought you were _gone_ , Crowley…couldn’t find you.” The angel was now weeping over him. “Your-your eyes, I searched, a-and searched and I thought you weren’t there….”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed a sorrowful lilt. She could hear the guilt thick and heavy in his voice. He waited quietly, allowing her to catch her breath before whispering, “…I deserve this, all of your anger, I deserve it—”

“No, you don’t!" She wailed against his words in protest, staring at him through a blanket of unshed tears. Only for a second did she think her mind was playing a trick on her when those serpentine eyes were just as watery as hers. “You don’t deserve this.”

She sniffled, “…you were brilliant, Crowley; so brilliant—you did what you had to, I just…,” she swallowed down the last of her hysteria finding sedation in the afterglow of her sobbing. A good cry always did more for her than half-hearted physical violence even if the latter was always more tempting when she got that angry.

“I said my goodbyes. You…you _really_ played the part, dear boy, so well in fact I prayed that you would forgive yourself after—”

Crowley shifted underneath her to free himself from between her thighs and put a long bent leg on either side of her, his hands grabbing her shoulders to him which she went all too willing into his embrace. The sound of his heartbeat beneath his thin chest calmed her closer back to a normal she had not been for a while.

Boney knees secured her in place, lanky arms cocooned her protectively, hands motioned along her back comforting and gentle, and being so encompassed in her demon was pleasantly overwhelming. The movement was slight, but she found that softly rocking back in forth with him was a very calming act and no wonder children were so pacified by it.

His scent was intoxicating. Aziraphale nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck, erupting a symphony of appreciative hums from his throat. Crowley buried his face in her tangled curls, inhaling so deep she could not help but believe he may have been just as intoxicated as she was.

For a generous stretch of time, words were unnecessary between them. As breathing steadied and heartbeats found rhythm together, Aziraphale could bask in this moment forever. Crowley, being the more fidgety impatient one between them, decided now to break the stillness.

“I found a way…,” he whispered into her hair.

Aziraphale encouraged him with a curious hum.

How his long thin fingers rubbed hypnotic circles across her back confirmed he was deeply engrossed in his thoughts.

“…watched, waited, and you won't believe how when I tell you, Angel, but I found it.” Was her demon aware he wasn’t making any sense?

“My dear,” she whispered against the soft skin just under his ear near the hinge of his jaw, “what are you talking about?”

Crowley inhaled deep, and Aziraphale could feel the broadening expanse of his chest against hers.

“I found a way to kill Alphaeus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh I did not want to stop it there but I had to! We are on the precipice of a **major** plot-twist unveil!
> 
> Also, Aziraphale and Crowley are back together once again!! ❂◡❂ Much more of our BAMF duo to come. Oh, and I wonder if Crowley caught that one four letter-
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I love reading them!


	28. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this in one sitting because I was so freaking touched by all the amazing feedback this story is getting, you guys are amazing (っ◕‿◕)っ ♥ that said, I've also found myself so crazy busy this week (and possibly next) I wanted to make sure I post something in case the next chapter is delayed, and still need to reply to the comments from last chapter because trust me I read them like 3x each and have to stop myself from drowning ya'll in heartfelt replies<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: typos, potential misuse of an interim in a story because this was a quick, dialogue heavy chapter and eh, enjoy the fluff of our ineffable duo!

“Copper’s alive!?”

“Protz did _what!_?”

This marked the third time Aziraphale and Crowley spoke at the same time, and just like the first two they each reacted in similar fashions; mumbling apologies and courtesies for the other to go first.

“Stunning human—!”

“ _Protz_ of all people—”

Now marked the fourth time. So much to share and little time granted to do so proved to be a more challenging game of catch-up than expected.

“Copper’s alive!” Crowley’s cackle accompanied a joyous fist pump into the air.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, it was quite fortunate he found me when he did; poor dear was not in good shape. But back to the matter of Protz—?”

“Resilient man, that Copper. Not easy to find humans so sturdy—”

“Dear, please, we can chat about your infatuation with that doctor later, for now...”

“ _Infatuation_?! Ngk, that’s not—”

“Oh please, dear. Save the charade for someone else—”

“ _Charade_?! Now hold on—!”

“ _Crowley_.” Aziraphale’s tone snapped his mouth shut, silently warning the demon he was not out of the woods yet for the spectacular stunt he pulled on her earlier and encouraged him to tread lightly on her nerves for the time being. Understanding this well, the demon nodded quickly in admission to the pressing change of topic. Slipping out of the hidden room in the wall with the angel right on his heels, Crowley led them hurriedly down the hall toward their next direction with the promise of an explanation still pending between their scattered conversation.

“Not sure where to start,” Crowley began while peaking over the corner into the next hallway, “thought it was just another trap. Not a big fan of being poisoned, me, so you can understand my reluctance to hear him out when my skin was ablaze.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Aziraphale said, while ironically following Crowley.

“That’s just it. One minute I’m flailing around on the floor’n the next thing I know I’m standing in another dimension with Protz going on and on—couldn’t get him to shut up enough to follow what the heaven he was saying.”

“Quite relatable.” Aziraphale shot her demon a sarcastic side-eye which flew right over his crimson head. Crowley stopped suddenly, nearly causing the angel to collide into his back before he whirled around and grabbed Aziraphale by her shoulders to steady her with a wild expression. Long fingers snaked across the sides of her round face, nails tickling her scalp as they threaded through her hair. When he stopped, he did a little squeeze which puffed her cheeks and lips.

“Angel,” Crowley was rarely ever this animated, “had you any idea the old toad was _still alive_ in that empty head’a his?” He spoke over himself and did not seem to notice. Aziraphale caught the size of his pupils as he stared unblinking at her and promptly addressed it.

“F’waid not,” she gently reached up and placed her hands above his with a quiet request to stop messing with her face, “your eyes are positively dilated. Are you certain that poison is not affecting you?”

The demon’s stare carried a generous pause at the question before he shrugged a little. “No, no— _well_ , nothing life threatening, no, but now that you bring it up, I feel akin to a runaway train and the conductor just jumped off but not before he cranked the lever to _top speed_ —”

Aziraphale interrupted him with a scrupulous look. “Crowley, that sounds like the poison is still in your system…that, or you sound like you’re on drugs—”

“That’s just it!” His light squeezing was now a fidgety jitter against her smooth cheeks in emphasis to whatever _it_ was. “It’s not poison, er-well, a bit of toxins, but not nearly enough to do what Gastrell intended. And _that_ , Angel, my Angel, is where that bastard made a very _very_ grave mistake!”

The angel sighed, now more lost in the conversation Crowley was having at her rather than with her. The poor thing, he must be running at a thousand miles per hour.

“Dear, slow down a little. You’re going much too fast for me.” She almost pleaded, and the tone seemed to have successfully snapped him out of it, if only slightly with a hurried nod of his head.

“Right! Sorry, sorry. I’m pumped! Arrogant sod, he’s had the jump on us this entire time! But not now. We got him this time….”

Crowley proceeded to explain the events that took place between the moment he attacked Protz to the moment Alphaeus controlled him. Though over-explained in some places and drifting off-topic in others to a point where she had to guide him back, the angel retained enough to fathom this was not only a startling revelation, but a window of opportunity handed to them on a silver platter.

When Crowley finally paused to take a deep breath despite the need to, Aziraphale jumped in with a firm finger held up to stop him. “Just so I understand; Protz, the dutiful, literally-heartless, subservient butler who spent this entire time carrying out his master’s wishes, has secretly been conspiring against said master and was able to carry out his dying wish through you via an unforeseen opportunity when you bit him?”

“Exactly!” Crowley barked proudly. “Couldn’t have said it better myself!” Aziraphale had to agree with him there; it did sadly take him forever to explain what she summarized in a handful of seconds.

“Well, that is…,” it was a lot to take in and she was still hesitant to trust the demon butler for incredibly good reason. “…a lot, but do you really trust this?”

Her answer was a jittery shrug of thin shoulders and a simple reply. “It’s the only thing we’ve got.”

True.

Her demon added, “if he wanted to kill me, Angel, he would have done so. He was instructed to poison his own blood with enough toxins to make sure I would be a drooling lackey in his place. Instead, he made it to where I would only get a very slight dose of the toxins, enough to fool the Duke and ensure it wore off gradually without him knowing.”

“The poison, Aziraphale, iss’not poison at all. It’s his blood. _Gastrell’s blood_.”

Though they were cut from the same cloth, demon and angel anatomy had changed over millennia. What made sense to Crowley in all this had Aziraphale desperate for a shred of understanding. He must have picked up on her confusion, as he let go of her face and took a step back to look at her. His grin was all teeth and manic excitement probably because of whatever it was coursing through his bloodstream.

“C’mon, Angel, get that big beautiful brain of yours in gear! Don’t you see?”

“See _what_?”

“Everything!” His long arms flew out, emphasizing in a dazzling flail of energy. “Gastrell didn’t notice Protz was somewhat still conscious in his own mind, and that confirms the bloke has _zero_ experience with demonology. None. All book smart, some proper planning, and a dash of common sense. Other than that? Lad’s greener than a forest.”

They continued forward down the seemingly never ending hallways of the castle, this time Crowley walking them backwards so he could still watch Aziraphale intently as he continued to babble out more information at her. It reminded the angel of the time Charlie had broken into his father’s stash of luxuriously imported Colombian coffee beans and helped himself to half a pound. It had taken hours for the boy to stop bouncing off the walls, and even longer to get him to stop talking.

Instead of fussing with an energetic demon, Aziraphale decided it was probably easier to just run with it. “Well, without further proof I still feel as though that was a given. Alphaeus doesn’t seem to know much about angels either.”

“It’s so clear now!” Crowley’s next deep breath almost lifted his lanky frame off the floor. His eyes were impossibly round and more alive than she’d ever seen, his hands waved over his expanded chest while he held in the large breath.

“This,” he said with a grand exhale, “ _this_ , is just a small bit of Gastrell’s blood running through me. It’s like lightning, Angel, I feel like I could fly laps around this castle, build another one, and rule the entire country—”

“You may need to calm down a bit, dear, or you might explode—”

“ _Exactly!_ Now you’re catching on!” Crowley cackled, and _almost_ clicked his heels in the air with how excited he was. “Imagine; if barely an ounce of his blood has this kind of effect on a demon of my caliber, he must be on a completely different level than us—has been this entire time! I can barely think straight with all these thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, just _running_ , a human vessel can’t possibly contain this much power. He’s absorbed the demonic energy of twenty-something demons all running through his body. Explains those loony mood swings of his, the-the mad way he changes his mind so flippantly. Angel, he’s _insane_.”

“Crowley, for God’s sake, that’s been apparent this entire time—oh.” The light in Aziraphale’s head finally switched on, allowing her to see what Crowley had been poorly trying to explain to her this entire time.

From her recent run-ins with Alphaeus, she had collected her fair share of his interesting behavioral ticks; namely, the moment he had forgotten about his own mother which still bothered her to this very minute. That, and the alteration of his physical appearance from the more human-like attributes to the horns, teeth, eyes, and increased mass of his stature. In the grand scope of her observations, she had noticed the recent unpredictable actions from the Duke that were unlike his usual patterns.

Come to think of it, she had confronted the deranged creature on his unusual behavior; addressing the obvious sign he was losing himself down his path of destruction only to have him dismiss it without comment. But Crowley had not only noticed this as well but witnessed it more in-depth than she had.

“So…if you eat a demon’s heart, that doesn’t necessarily kill them, nor enslave them?” Aziraphale stroked her chin with her fingers at the newfound information, now fully invested.

“No, which…it didn’t really cross my mind until I saw it for myself. You don’t come across someone who’s favored dish is steaming demon heart very often, but the facts are there now. And it’s to our advantage!” Crowley looked wild and triumphant; it was endearing, and the angel found this an extremely attractive feature on the demon.

Before Aziraphale could open her mouth, Crowley intervened with a startlingly loud clap of his hands and an index finger pointed straight at her.

“Simplified Astronomy lesson. Ready?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale gaped dumbly. “Don’t believe I have a choice…?”

“Good. Lesson one; what makes a star burn? Energy. How? Nuclear reactions. What happens when those reactions stop? Pressure drops—one sec,” he rushed to the end of the hallway to peer around it slyly, glancing in all directions before back to Aziraphale and nodded at her to keep following him, “—okay, so what happens when the pressure drops?” This time Crowley paused for her to answer, and there was no way she would be able to supply one. This was his realm of expertise, after all, and they both knew she was not the one between them who had constructed countless star-systems and galaxies. Humans would no doubt spend the next century looking through more and more advanced inventions in an attempt to understand a fraction of the complexities Crowley could recite in his sleep.

“Star collapses in on itself.” He made a wide ball with his hands and squeezed them together into joined fists in emphasis, or perhaps he didn’t know what do with his fidgety hands the angel was not sure.

Crowley continued with neither a blink or breath. “Now imagine Alphaeus as a star; an unstable, bright, crazy star. So used to running on this relentless stock of energy must be unreal. We’re talking leagues deadlier for a human body even though he’s so far gone he may very well be his own species. Anyway, what if eventually he were to suddenly _run out_ of all that energy?”

“Oh! I know this one.” Aziraphale threw her hand up as if she were in a classroom, and quickly put her hand back down in mild embarrassment. “He would collapse in on himself. Without _fuel_ , per say, his body is too mortal and therefore he would be unable to withstand the pressure drop!”

“Yes! Brilliant as ever, my Angel is!” Crowley cheered.

Aziraphale could not help but wiggle a little at the compliment. “Thank you, dear. Not to cut a good thing short, but tell me…by that theory, Alphaeus is technically keeping himself alive. To destroy him,” her fingers were back on her chin in contemplation, “we need to turn off the power source, right?”

“Exactly.” Crowley almost _twirled_ around the corner into the next hallway, but Aziraphale would not comment on it to save her poor demon’s dignity once the come-down hit.

“Crowley, do we know where this _power source_ of his is? Come to think of it,” there was so much content, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if she felt more excited or anxious by all of it, “does it seem odd that he’s still alive? By that logic, his body should have been destroyed under the sheer volume of—”

“Not if you can hide the mortal parts of yourself in pocket dimensions within a real one.”

And Crowley could still sit here and confidently say Aziraphale was the smartest of the two? Granted, being the bookworm did have intellectual advantages over her best friend, however when referring to topics Crowley was passionate about there was simply no matching his comprehension of it.

“…I’m sure I don’t need to ask for you to elaborate on that?” Aziraphale swallowed down a foreign sensation of fluttering warmth creeping up her throat from the pit of her stomach.

Crowley met her smile with one that resembled a mad scientist. “The arrogant bastard, he’s had the jump on us this entire time. Always one step ahead because of that bloody itinerary he goes on and on about. Thinking he’s so clever, hiding secrets in plain sight, blowing smoke to veil his plans….”

Aziraphale exhaled the air in her lungs when she wondered how long she had been holding it absentmindedly, her cheeks strangely warm and flushed suddenly.

“…he may behave like a newborn, but he did do his research well enough to know his body would buckle under the demonic pressure. He must have realized something wasn’t digesting right, probably after the twelfth or so demon. My guess? He was able to expel the part of him still mortal in a pocket dimension hidden away so no one would find it...not even Protz.”

“Pocket dimension.” Aziraphale stared at her demon in equal parts awe and fascination. “That’s…why, that’s brilliant. Such clever thinking, Crowley!”

The lanky redhead bowed like a maestro after a stunning performance. “I try.”

“And here, we’ve been more focused on the physical barriers of this world instead of investing more into Alphaeus’ ability to manipulate it with his demonic powers…Crowley,” it was her turn to clap and startle him this time, “where do you think he’s hiding this mortal part of him?”

She should not have been so surprised to hear the lengthy pause of silence from Crowley; there was no mistaking this wily energetic serpent was _her_ serpent if she were to measure her confidence by how much he loved dramatic effects.

All at once he stopped walking and smiled down at her quietly when she came to stand inches from him, looking at him with flushed cheeks, pursed lips, and quickened breaths with no rhyme or reason why.

Crowley’s playful wink nearly throttled the angel’s heart. “Knowing that loon? Somewhere he’d rather use to highlight his pride and arrogance than turning attention away from it.”

He dropped his voice into a low rumble which slipped from one of the most attractive smirks in the history of Aziraphale’s Most Cherished Crowley Smirks, and it was a private collection for good reason.

“He’s hiding them in either one, some, or stupidly _all_ of the gargoyles. Erh, demons. Demon gargoyles. Honestly, what are they? Confusing—”

Aziraphale could take it no longer. Her hands were gripping his shoulders before she knew what was happening, ignoring the high-pitched yelp from the demon she threw him up against the nearby wall to their right. There was no time given for his nervous wiggling as she threw herself against him next, reached up, and smashed their lips together.

Elegance and etiquette thrown out the window at this point, her lips moved over his; strong, dominating, and full of hunger and rich with the want to debauch this demon like he deserved to be. When his brain finally caught up, Crowley melted his long body against her soft curvy frame and allowed her to take and take like the hedonist she was. A pleasant hum from deep in his throat had Aziraphale ripping her lips from his and leaned back to smugly appreciate the dazed expression on his face, licking her lips at the sight of his mouth still puckered for more snogging.

For a split second the angel considered whatever had Crowley nearly bouncing off the walls had found its way to her and ignited a fire under her skin. “Pardon my intrusion, Crowley, but when you carry yourself like that, when you _say_ things like that—well, it just…it makes me want to ravish you, dear boy. Why, I have half a mind to throw you to the floor right now, bend you over and—”

“Aziraphale, great _Satan_ _below_.” Crowley swore, sounding as equally exasperated as he was scandalized. He swallowed loudly, his eyes blinking as if they were never taught how to. “Ahb-uhh, nngh—fuck, I hate saying this, but we’ll have to put a pin in that after, _right_ after if I can bloody help it, but we have to get rid of Gastrell first. Top priority, you understand.”

“Right, right. Of course.” Whatever spell casted on the angel then broke and left the ethereal blond choking on her words while trying to figure out what to do with her hands as soon as she let go of Crowley to take a few steps back. The generous amount of space given allowed Crowley to utilize it wisely as shaking legs propelled himself from the wall, one hand smoothing over the rumpled areas of his suit while the other smoothed back crimson locks she would delightfully accept blame for messing up.

Aziraphale cleared her throat. “Priorities, absolutely.”

“Oh no," he wagged a finger at her, "don’t go anywhere with-with whatever _that_ was,” he waved a hand over her appearance, “that was good. Write that down. We’ll come back to it, but it’ll feel _a lot_ more satisfying when this job is done.”

“Agreed!” Aziraphale chirped back happily while shaking her fist in the air only to freeze and quirk a curious brow. “Wait, so that’s where we’ve been headed this entire time?” A staircase suddenly came into view once they rounded the last corner of the wing. Ironically, the angel felt as though her question had just been answered.

“I’m going for discreet in case the deranged maniac can sense the spiritual pressure of our miracles, but we may eventually have to use one to get up there faster. Moreover, I was going to spend this time telling you about a plan I came up with—”

“Good heavens, you and your plans. This one better not involve me getting shot in the chest like poor Copper?”

“No, no. And for the record, I gave him an out and he refused, but to answer your earlier question; yes.” In another dazzling show of eccentricity, Crowley hopped up the staircase to the third step with no trouble and turned to her with one hand anchoring him by a hold around the banister as he swung back to extend a helping hand out to her.

“How about it, Angel? Fancy a night of demon smiting while I blow up some statues?”

Never let it be said that Crowley was the only one who enjoyed a flashy dramatic pause. Holding herself as primly as she could, her blue eyes glanced from his daring grin to his open hand several times until she could no longer hold back a grin parallel to his.

Aziraphale threw her hand out and judging by the inferno of renewed vigor in his dilated eyes she was certain he could feel the unwavering trust in her strong grip.

“Temptation accomplished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't help myself; Aziraphale should not be limited to saying that line only once. Also, though I love astronomy I am not an expert so forgive me lol. 
> 
> As far as plot goes, there's still more to uncover! ,We will soon see just how these two are going to pull this off~ it may get intense. ;) 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, I always enjoy the comments and feedback! Thank you for reading!


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient! This chapter was a bit tricky, and with how busy these last two weeks have been I didn't want to jump the gun haha. 
> 
> Final Arc! I added my final chapter count at 35. The last climactic moment is about to unfold! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: typos/grammar, horror, violence, gore, spooky themes and elements, and (SLIGHT SPOILER) supernatural body modification (you'll see lol)

_Three Hours Ahead_

The barn smelt of musky cattle and damp wood, and though the frayed edges of straw prickled his skin, Copper had to admit he felt more at peace than he had in the duration of his stay within the castle walls. In hindsight, perhaps Copper should have suggested he take residence in the barn when he first arrived if only to find a sense of solidarity.

Going forward, he would remember to ask for a barn over a luxury guest room on his next assignment, if said assignment were anything close to this one.

“What about you, Doctor?” The query brought him out of his musings with a turn of his head, which was the only movement he was allowed what with being sandwiched between the Windsor children huddled closely next to him while using his shoulders to support their weary heads. Even if he wanted to reposition for an inkling of room, he would not risk their comfort.

“You’ll have to repeat the question,” he replied softly, “caught me neck deep in my own thoughts.”

It was John who had asked; sitting opposite to the older man on his own bed of hay currently shared by a peacefully slumbering Marilyn, his knees pulled up to his chest to rest his chin on top of them. He looked tired, haggard, yet no more so than the rest of the thirty-something occupants of the barn.

“I asked what you would do once you got home?”

Copper snorted. “I believe my answer would be similar to everyone else’s; shower, sleep, hug my family.” He paused to look away in quiet consideration before admitting, “…may attend church for the first time in twenty years.”

That last part earned him a few weak chuckles from around the barn. When the silence stretched on after, John accepted Copper’s answer in full and turned his attention to Charlie nestled to the right of the older man.

“What about you, young Lord?”

Charlie didn’t answer right away, but the doctor could feel the boy tense up at the question. Finally, his small voice mumbled an answer which had the doctor’s wise old heart breaking.

“We don’t have a home anymore.”

“Oh…” with widened eyes, John seemed to realize what he’d asked the boy given what had happened to his parents. He cringed back when Copper shot him a pointed look as if he had heard the words the look represented. _Think before you speak, boy._

Copper shrugged the shoulder Charlie was occupying, glancing down to see the boy’s pinched expression. “Lad, just because your mother and father are no longer here does not mean you don’t have a home.”

Charlie was quick to reply. “Orphans don’t have homes, Dr. Copper.”

Technically, he was right. But technically he was not.

“Not necessarily,” the doctor countered good naturedly, “you have family, you have your sister, and if we’re carrying on like men here, given your last name the fortune your parents have built will one day ensure you will never _not_ have a home to go to.”

He was not a father who ignored his children, and knew even before Charlie did that the boy was about to argue for the sake of his point being proven and promptly added, “besides, I would think twice before saying something like that in front of your nanny when she returns. I don’t think she’d fancy knowing you and your sister consider yourselves abandoned orphans.”

Copper couldn’t help himself at the end. “You both have quite the guardian angel looking after you. I have the utmost confidence you two will be quite alright after all this—”

His words were cut short by a rumbling in the earth, tremors rippling up the eroded wood shingles of the barn to rattle miscellaneous tools and other equipment mounted to the walls. With the chorus of worried gasps and cries awoke those who had attempted sleep to now glance around in startlement.

Of the batch of sleeping survivors jostled awake was Maurielle, who let out a startled gasp. Copper felt his left arm gripped in a tight hold by her small chubby hands and tugged closer.

“M-Mr. Copper?” Maurielle whispered.

“Earthquake!?” Someone cried out.

“Oh, of all things!” Another cry from the same direction.

Between the slivers of wood siding shined rays of blinding light, casting irregular shadows while the light danced through the cramped space in the barn. It allowed Copper to see what the portable gas lit lamps could not provide; fearful faces squinting once the light flashed across their eyes.

The Queen’s Hound had not just spent his time in the company of supernatural beings to simply dismiss whatever was happening suddenly as an earthquake, but he would keep that piece of information to himself. He made quick work of calming the frightened children on either side of him with a reassuring squeeze of his arm around Charlie’s bony shoulders and gentle pats on Maurielle’s tousled brown curls.

The tremors continued, only slightly weaker than before.

“Pay no attention to what’s being said,” Copper dropped his tone to a soft hum, “you both are safe here.” As he looked to his left and right, he was given skeptic looks but understanding nods from each of the children. When he opened his mouth to continue, the barn doors on the far side opened and allowed a portion of the blinding light in before a massive silhouette moved into the barn followed by a loud slam.

Relief at seeing the hulking body of Timothy was easily forgotten the moment Copper registered the troubled look on the man’s face.

Despite any trace of despair, the pastry chef scanned the room of frightened expressions with a broad smile. It would be a good distraction away from the simple fact he had yet to move from leaning his back against the door in a way that resembled someone preventing whatever it was outside from getting in.

“Hah, it’s alright! Nothing to worry about!” His eyes brightened when they locked onto Copper’s dubious stare. “D-Doctor! A moment?”

Nodding quietly, he quickly told Charlie to watch his sister, lifted himself up, and walked swiftly toward the other man until they were out of hearing range from the others.

Timothy didn’t miss a chance to lean in and whisper, “I’m worried.”

“I can tell.” Copper replied, glancing over the other man’s thick build to the slivers of bright light coming in through the cracks in the exterior before turning back to the man’s blood-drained complexion.

“Was patrolling around, nothing unusual at first. N’then…” Timothy nodded behind him without glancing back. “…next thing I know, the ground shook. I turned around, and…,” the pause needed for the chef to swallow down his anxiety was stirring plenty in the doctor’s gut.

“The castle, Doctor, it’s collapsing in flames.”

_Present Time_

“I really shouldn’t carry on like I am. It really isn’t your fault, after all.”

Why Crowley was looking into the blank stare of a dying demon was a mystery even to the serpent himself. He couldn’t help it; somewhere buried in forgotten emotions was a being who grieved for their fallen brethren, and had Crowley been a proper demon he would have honored their comrade’s death in a more traditional fashion.

But Crowley had never been a proper demon, nor did he have the time for a traditional send-off.

Sparing one last glance downward at the solid gold head at the end of his cane, Crowley rolled his tongue across his teeth and gave the gargoyle-demon statue one last sympathetic look.

“Sorry for this. Nature of the business, really. Never let a human best you at your job.”

Standing on the ledge of the castle rooftop, it was easy to see the length of stone statues lining the edges until it disappeared into the night to round the nearest corner; each victim of Alphaeus’ vengeful plot unique and held their own agonized expressions of fear and pain twisted upon their faces. Crowley did have to admit from a passing glance these imprisoned demons could easily pass as gargoyles.

“That goes for the rest of you lot.” Crowley barked across the roof, uncertain and uncaring if they really heard him. “Sorry your piss-poor excuse for a boss—Hastur if anyone’s wondering—would rather slack off than teach you a proper soul-exchange. Maybe there’s a next time?” Knowing Her, probably not.

With those parting words of pretend-sorrow, Crowley gripped the end of his cane with both hands and raised it up until the rounded end was level height with the top of his head, shoulders squared, and elbows bent. Crowley knew the very moment he swung, there was no going back.

And yet, the notion did not pull his strength any less as he brought the cane down on the statue using every ounce of strength he could muster added with the underlying and intentionally hidden support of a companion the demon felt too paranoid to even think of in fear of being exposed too soon.

Crowley remembered to close his eyes to prevent any rock or dust debris from getting in and revelled in the satisfying sounds of an object destroyed; an object which symbolized the beginning of an end to one’s suffering and the beginning of an end to one’s demise. Waxing poetry aside, there was something therapeutic in watching something shatter to a point where Crowley considered it a good exercise for releasing pent up aggression.

Sizzling hisses of the demonic spirit leaving it’s stone prison followed soon after told Crowley he was done here, and with a hop in his step leaped off the raised pillar where the statue once stood to land quietly on the flat surface of the roof.

“Not to worry,” Crowley called out theatrically as he swung the cane like a bat, “a painless way to go, I assure you. Now, who’s next? Any volunteers?” He waited. As expected, no one answered.

“No? Well, we can all agree silence _is_ a valid option.” The statue to Crowley’s left was a short pudgy looking boar demon, and on his right what appeared to be an exact opposite; a thin lanky bird-witch-doctor-looking thing that resembled someone Crowley might have bumped into on his way to Dagon’s office a few centuries ago.

“Bird Creature, looks like you’re up next.”

As the tall serpent sauntered toward his next target, he lamented solemnly. “I have a feeling whatever you’re about to experience is a lot better than what you’ve been through, but even still you might want to hold your breath.” Crowley knew well that talking to these statues seemed cruel, but there was no trace of cruelty in the lilt of his tone or decision to destroy these creatures. They were already stuck in purgatory and destroying them as they were would technically be saving them from further suffering, which was a very _un-demonly_ thing to do.

“It’s a good thing you aren’t going back to Hell after this, you’d probably report me for my behavior.” Crowley mused out loud to stave off the grim silence caught in the moist humid air of the summer night. As he stood just to the side of the statue, he raised the cane again and readied his posture for another blow.

“Last chance; any objection?” The question was facetious, so when he received an answer it sent a shockwave through Crowley’s bones.

“As a matter of fact, _yes_.” The words were whispered as the warm breath danced over the shell of his ear, it was so close.

The next chain of events would have ended in Crowley’s head being shot clean off his neck had he have not anticipated it prior. Precise timing saved him from an untimely fate when his whole body serpentined out of the line of fire to back-peddle to the middle of the roof in timed steps. It was then he chanced a shaky exhale to ground himself.

The dusty debris from a close-range gunshot settled as the last echo of sound traveled off in the distance, leaving behind a sight which made any witty two-bit remark fall flat on Crowley’s forked tongue.

Though he knew what to expect and carefully based his plan around it, there was no way he would have anticipated the level of unbridled psychotic rage that currently twisted Alphaeus’s features beyond what demonic forces had already distorted. Standing in the exact spot Crowley had only seconds ago, the Duke crouched as if he were about lash out in any direction; one hand latched around the stone-demon’s frozen arm for balance while the other gripped his custom-made shotgun.

It would take years for Crowley to admit the haunting stare fixated his way scared the Hell right out of him. But in the moment? He would not give the other creature such satisfaction.

Instead, he chirped sarcastically. “Alphaeus! Come to join our rendezvous, have you?”

Judging by the furious snarl, the Duke was in no mood for it. The whites of his eyes were swallowed by the void of what was once his pupils, dark pulsating veins crawled along his pale complexion. For a short while neither spoke. Alphaeus looked as though he had everything to say and yet could not find the words.

Crowley beat him to it with a snort. “Why the face? You look troubled.”

It was unlike Alphaeus not to jump at the chance for a witty comeback. The creature just stared, however the slight clench of his jaw did not go unnoticed. Whether the reason stemmed from this monster realizing he no longer had the upper-hand, or it was another last second scheme to goad his enemy, Crowley decided he was no longer interested in wanting to understand why.

With a click of his tongue, the demon continued to jeer the creature from his safe distance away while swinging the cane absentmindedly. “Trust me, I don’t think either of us were expecting Protz to have a sudden change of heart. Didn’t have one, right? Good ol’ Protz.”

Crowley received a curled lip for that comment and revelled in the knowledge his words were having the intended effect. “For a bumbling demon, he sure did pull a veil over your sorry eyes.”

“Oh, don’t be cross with him. Deceit is what our kind does best.” Crowley gave Alphaeus a mocking pout as he tilted his head in false sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you knew _all_ about that. Did you not?”

If the last snide comments didn’t do enough, this one surely would get a rile out of him. “Probably not, what with how far your head’s been shoved up your mother’s—”

An inhuman snarl cut his words short, either that or because Alphaeus threw a clenched fist into the stone slab of his perch sending dust and debris flying under the intensity of his punch. It created a sizable dent in the solid stone.

“I grow _tired_ of hearing you speak.” The monster said and when he did Crowley quickly veiled his surprise for an insincere version.

“ _Well_ , if I had a pound for every time I felt that way after listening to your babbling, I’d be wealthy enough to buy this estate right out from under you.” He paused for dramatic effect and tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. “Oh, but you didn’t buy this estate, did you?” He paused again but not for the answer. “No, we both know you slaughtered the owners and gave yourself a fancy title to go with your stolen throne." 

Alphaeus resembled a snarling animal, all teeth as his sickly blue lips peeled back menacingly. “Hold your tongue—”

“Poor~little~Alphaeus,” Crowley taunted slowly, all the while flashing his teeth with a grin. The step he took back was meant to put more space between them just in case, but he covered it well as his yellow eyes gave the creature a pitying onceover. “Must have been hard growing up with nothing. Dressed in tattered rags while those—what did you call them? Wealthy hogs—waddled around with wealth practically pouring out of their fat pockets."

“Must have been _so hard_ watching your mother break her back day after day…after day, after day with nothing to show for it. And you just _watched_ and did nothing—”

Two quick steps back saved Crowley’s foot from being blown clean off. Before the ringing in his ears could subside, the demon brought his attention back to Alphaeus, ready in case of a follow-up attack. It never came, yet Alphaeus had moved to stand from his stone perch next to the statue to the flat surface of the rooftop a few feet closer.

Smoke trailed from the double-barrel shotgun aimed in his direction, and behind the long silver shaft gleamed a furious razor-toothed smile. His wild eyes stared Crowley down with a silent promise for something the serpent demon was about to find out very soon.

“I’m crossed between just killing you now or keeping you alive so I can turn those nasty little words into agonizing screams.” He lowered the shotgun only somewhat and tilted his head with squinted eyes. “Careful what you say next, ol’ boy, or you might swing my vote.”

Crowley let out a thoughtful noise from the back of his throat and placed a hand to his chest. “Letting someone else decide for a change. How kind.” It wiped the smile from the creature’s face.

“Funny, I’d like to say all this feels quite familiar, however…,” ah, it seemed Alphaeus finally found his snide sense of humor, “when did you grow some _bollocks_ , little snake?”

There was a wonderful rebuttal on the tip of Crowley’s tongue for that question, but before he could voice it Alphaeus cut him off.

“Tell me, did you snap out of it in the midst of devouring your precious little angel? Because,” the bastard had the audacity to break for a laugh, “because, I can’t quite figure out where all this,” he waved a hand over Crowley’s frame, “came from.”

It was a cheap attempt to rile him up, but it wasn’t clever enough for Crowley. Unfortunately, the next phrase was enough to make the demon bristle.

“Or…is this performance of yours merely for show while she sneaks about in the shadows? I wonder…,” Alphaeus flickered his attention away from Crowley to gaze around them into the shadows casted in the moonlight above, and it was a small window of opportunity the serpent demon seized without hesitation.

Taking three lunging steps forward, Crowley raised one arm to brandish a thumb and middle finger like a weapon. When the movement only somewhat pulled the Duke’s attention back to him, he challenged Alphaeus with a throaty growl.

“She doesn’t need to see what I’m about to do to you.”

The demon-eater scoffed. “ _Tch_ , beg your pardon…?”

A _snap_ cut the sentence short while demonic energy prickled the air icy and weighted in adjacent to the stinging burn of electricity sparking against the enchantment placed upon the shotgun, all which resulted in a startled bark from Alphaeus as he shook his arms without letting go of the firearm. The miracle soon withered way under the strength of the enchantment. Unfortunately for Alphaeus, his breathy cackles were what Crowley needed to confirm the miracle had performed its job perfectly.

“H-Hah! Hah, are all you demons _that_ daft?” He sounded triumphant; shoulders shaking with every burst of laughter. “ _Fool_ , you don’t remember that hole I put in your gut?” He grinned down at his gun like a proud parent before raising his head up to flash an arrogant smirk. “What makes you think that little trick would work this ti—”

There was no one in front of him.

Alphaeus blinked twice too many too late and wasted the precious time he didn’t know he needed until a slithering black blur appeared at the tips of his shoes just under his nose, suddenly rushing upward to meet him and somehow in the distance from his feet to his face scales became fabric and flesh, bones shifted from serpent to humanoid, limbs sprouted, and the blunt end of a wide palm caught the space under his chin.

The whiplash looked painful, and Crowley almost felt a phantom ache in his own neck at watching the ghastly way Alphaeus’ head snapped back in a chorus of sickening pops. The force also knocked the creature off his axis to propel backward with arms outstretched, and Crowley seized his opportunity.

If there was one lesson the old serpent learned from humans he would never forget, it was to never lose balance in a fight; his left leg was bent forward to ensure the momentum of his punch held stable, Crowley threw himself back onto his right leg which had been shifted slightly behind him and the distance he put between himself and Alphaeus would keep himself alive through this next part.

His right hand, or the hand that did not almost knock the Duke into the next dimension, gripped the smooth redwood of his cane closer to the heavier blunt end and brought it down like a club to shatter the small collection of bones in Alphaeus’ wrist. To understand why Crowley targeted this specific wrist was easily explained; without proper support, the uneven weight shifted the shotgun over the useless hand to tumble toward the floor. With bones _that_ mangled, there was simply no way his finger would be able to pull the trigger.

A gurgled scream bubbled up Alphaeus broken throat; a sign it was time for the next act.

Crowley swiftly tossed the cane from one hand to the other, and one now distorted, part reptilian, part demon hand reached out to grab the custom firearm with elongated talons, ignoring the irritating sting of whatever spell protected the weapon to focus on how much weight he placed on the balm of his right heel to propel backwards.

A _fwoom_ of gusty air rushed past them on either side, and the humidity of the night air felt strange on his wings as they sprung into existence from their metaphysical state. There was something to be said about keeping one’s wings preened and well maintained, and Crowley was damn proud of his. It was simple mechanics, really; the attentiveness he spent painstaking hours on paid off in moments like this.

It only took three powerful thrusts until his wings were launching him from Alphaeus and several yards away to land gracefully back on two feet. It was then that the hand which had landed the crushing blow erupted in a fit of painful spasms, his fingers only barely able to keep hold of the cane.

Crowley allowed himself to react to it but laughed and grinned through the pain like a maniac. “ _Rrgh_ —hah, entirely worth it.” That was an understatement; he’d fracture his forearm a million times if it meant he could land blows like that on this monster. With a quick miracle the fractures healed themselves and allowed Crowley to watch the Duke with undivided attention.

First, it appeared as though Alphaeus’ unsteady stumbling would make him fall backward until he threw his body forward at the waist. When he did, Crowley could not help but wince at the grotesque way the demon-eater’s head lolled lifelessly forward, reminding him of a chicken after having their neck snapped.

Alphaeus flailed his arms about for balance before his uninjured hand reached up to grab fistfuls of raven hair and wrenched his head up while the injured hand, a floppy thing that dangled off his forearm, snapped and cracked back to normal so he could grab his shattered jaw. A rough charcoal tongue dripping stringy trails of ichor wagged from his open mouth and that mixed with the half grin and bulging black eyes almost made Crowley flinch back.

Another litany of cracks as the jaw repaired itself, and it was just like Alphaeus to want to fix his face before his neck so he could flash a complete grin and mouth off.

“Dirty little trick, Anthony.” He chuckled, still supporting his head with two hands.

Crowley shrugged, appearing unperturbed. “What did you expect? It’s not like my lot to fight clean.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Whatever that meant was nothing good.

Now that he had this creature’s full attention, Crowley flexed the transformed arm holding the shotgun, and the _popping_ sound of the enchantment dying under his demonic energy mingled with the crunching metal of the shotgun under his powerful claws, which also mingled with the crackling pops of Alphaeus’ neck bones repairing themselves. The sadistic mirth faded somewhat from the monster’s expression as he watched his beloved firearm become a distorted mess of the beauty it once was shortly before it melted from Crowley’s claws to steaming hot goop at his feet.

Of course, any time Crowley did something insanely cool there was never anyone important around to witness it. Retelling the story just didn’t have the same flare.

Alphaeus pouted. “I loved that gun.” He paused his sulking to give the serpent an ambiguous look. “You do realize you could have used that on me instead of destroying it, right?”

A sudden awkward silence stretched between them, and finally Crowley steeled his expression save for a dumb blink. “Tch, ‘course I knew that. Moron.” Though he wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, Crowley felt like the real moron; truthfully, the idea had not crossed his mind. But he was a proud demon, dammit, and instead traded in the real reason for a much cooler one.

Flicking his claws clean of the melted remains, Crowley smirked. “Unlike you, I don’t need to use these clever little human devices to destroy my enemies. It will be much more rewarding to use my bare hands.”

For the record, Crowley was _not_ a fighter unless faced with times where he had to be—which were extremely scarce occurrences since the Great War. He could not remember the last time he was up against an enemy like Alphaeus and knew without even trying that his _true_ fighting skills were rusty outside of his ability to scrap and grapple. Thousands of years on Earth had made him a bit softer around the edges.

But Alphaeus didn’t need to know that.

“You’re not up against humans or any of those sniveling lower-levels you’ve devoured. No…,” oh, how he wished Aziraphale or Copper were here to see him in all his flashy cool glory. It was a right shame he didn’t have an audience for these moments.

“No,” he shook his head and continued in a low warning murmur, “you’re dealing with a _much_ older, _much_ more cunning demon than you expected.” With a quick throw-and-catch of his cane, Crowley shifted to a fighting stance and readied himself for whatever this creature was going to do next. His wings bucked and fluttered behind him in support.

Unfortunately, the frightened blubbering mess of a reaction he was expecting was the farthest thing from the one he got.

The night air filled with the sounds of manic laughter that attributed to the worst of the dread sinking like a stone in Crowley’s stomach. He would have preferred patronizing over excited any day if it prevented Alphaeus from tearing up at how hard he cackled.

The Duke’s thick arms wrapped around his middle and held until the cackles turned into deep belly chuckles. Sharp teeth clacked against each other gleefully, and no one should ever look _that_ happy about the thought of fighting someone.

“Hah, it’s about _goddamn_ time!” Alphaeus roared out between breaths. When shoulders hunched, it was a miracle the fabric of his evening coat did not rip into shreds over the growth of his body. The green behind this monster’s ears showed in those infinitesimal details such as these when it was made abundantly clear he had not yet figured out how to manipulate his clothes to accommodate body modification.

That small observation would have to wait, as when Alphaeus unfolded his arms they extended forward, bent at the elbows with palms up and fingers spread. Crowley did not know what part of this creature to watch first; the gnarled rigid horns on his head spiraled out and abnormally curved as they grew, the bones and muscle and cartilage shifting under his skin accelerated the additional mass. Parts of his clothing finally ripped at various seems unable to accommodate the growth of his shoulders, back, thighs, even the soles of his boots separated as elongated claws tore through the leather material.

“Christ…,” Crowley swallowed down a curse, realizing for the first time he was taking slow cautious steps back while Alphaeus shed his humanoid form for the demonic one seemingly hiding underneath.

“Appears we both underestimated our adversary, wouldn’t you say?” Alphaeus growled, his voice scratchy with a contralto pitch Crowley had never heard from him prior. Like Timothy’s deep rumble, this one reverberated the demon’s bones. And it surprisingly made sense that the giant chef would come to mind suddenly, because the Duke’s new dimensions made the mountain of a man not-so mountain by comparison.

“You believe I hid behind those lovely inventions, did you? Darling Anthony,” Alphaeus’ chuckle could be felt across the surface of the rooftop, his threatening step forward even more so, “as if I had any need to pull my punches on those sad little things I created down there. They were for sport.”

“Did I expect my ventures to attract the attention of an angel? Certainly not,” it was the start of a villain monologue, and though Crowley despised monologuing he thought it best not to interrupt this monster.

“Here I thought she would be the only real threat within my castle…until you came along, that is.” Alphaeus smiled, and the horror of his trademark paled to what it was now; a grin which split his irregular face near enough to touch the cartilage of his ears, layers of razor teeth in all sizes filled his mouth as his jaw protracted in no way which resembled a humans.

His eyes were completely black, huge in size and endless in depth, and ichor trailed like stray tears from the corners where skin stretched. It didn’t seem to bother the monster in the least as he continued, “oh, does my heart sing! What fun this will be! I’ve never felt such exhilaration, such jubilee! And here I thought my merry hunting would be top tier—Heavens, what a naïve babe I’ve been!”

The way Alphaeus suddenly looked at Crowley then reminded him of what it truly felt to be prey; it was no longer the expression of a proud hunter, but the mindless stare of a hungry predator.

 _This plan better work…,_ Crowley wanted to pray and knew better than to waste time on frivolous things like that when he decided the most important thing he needed to concentrate on right now was staying alive.

“ _Anthony~,_ ” Alphaeus sang, his footfalls heavy and stressful on the rooftop beneath as he stalked forward with barely controlled power.

“I shan’t wait to devour you.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the cane, and it made him sour at the notion that perhaps using clever human devices may not be such a worthless concept after all.

Before he could further entertain that thought, Alphaeus lunged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley might need a bigger cane. I wonder where Aziraphale is? Hm...
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed! All comments welcome, as always I love getting to know what you guys think and all the awesome opinions and theories! Thank you for reading!


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief author's note to my readers before you jump into this chapter; best be seated for this one, because it's going to be intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: (other than my typos and grammar) - strong language, depictions of gore, violence, and slow dying. if anyone feels like I need to add a warning label to the story for this one feel free to let me know in the comments! Lot of angst.

Crowley knew the implications of being the bait to his own plan. From watching Spanish conquistadors wave red flags around in a bull-pit, it seemed simple enough; taunt the angry animal, run around the arena like a well-practiced madman while trying not to get gored by a horn didn’t seem so bad.

Being the agile serpent he was, Crowley was confident he had a natural-born leverage to evade enraged beasts so long as he maintained proper speed and quick thinking.

Why he ever thought goading an enraged half-human half-demon beast almost thrice his build around the rooftop of a castle stories high seemed as manageable as fighting a bull in an arena was something he would have to kick himself for at a much more convenient occasion.

Because _holy shit_ , Alphaeus was strong.

After the monster lunged, Crowley had cleverly dodged each swing and swipe effortlessly. Speed was definitely on his side, but it was apparent in the bulging muscles of Alphaeus’ new gargantuan mass that while he was just a tad more slow with his attacks it would only take one swipe from those powerful claws to shred the serpent into bloody ribbons.

The blows Crowley was able to cleverly land in between ducking and dodging did not seem to have much of an effect, which was not a huge deal when it was not necessary for his attacks to be lethal as they just needed to distract the creature from the bigger forces at work behind the scenes. If they slowed him down, all the better.

Crowley also knew the implications of what to do should he get hit by one of those claws, and he was very lucky to be an ethereal being with healing abilities, because while Alphaeus’ last attack had fortunately not caught flesh they unfortunately did not need to. The momentum of those destructive talons tearing through the air only centimeters from Crowley's left side were enough to shred the fabric of his vest and undershirt, leaving stripes of shallow gashes across his ribcage, exposing burning swollen skin beneath the tattered clothing.

Which brought Crowley to current time; hiding behind one of several stone lookout towers scattered across the roof, hand covering his injured side while he calmed his quickened breaths long enough to focus on healing the gashes. The wet slick of blood under his palms was not excessive, but he knew it would not be wise to allow the scent of fresh blood to trail through the night air.

Coincidentally, his point was proven within seconds as the singsong lilt of the monster’s voice called out to him from a dangerously close distance.

“ _Anthony~,”_ Satan, did he hate it when Alphaeus sang his name in that way, “ _oh,_ your blood smells absolutely divine. Won’t you come out? Let me lap that pesky blood away~.”

Crowley allowed himself a disgusted shiver but did not move or make a sound.

“Mm, if you smell this amazing, I can only fantasize what that little angel’s blood must smell like …." _Nice try_ , Crowley almost scoffed out loud but knew better. The time to let remarks like that affect him was long past. Every second was just as crucial as the next now.

The vibrations of Alphaeus’ footfalls were the only give-away to his position, however when the creature spoke next it sounded as if he was now on the other side of the tower. Crowley’s eyes widened in shock with a startled gasp.

“You can’t hide from me, little snake.”

A chorus of exploding rock sounded behind Crowley, and if it were not for the last second thrust of his wings he would have been caught under the falling rubble. He glided a foot above the ground to stand closer to the gargoyles several yards away to watch the plumes of rock dust fall back to the mounds of destroyed stone blocks, his eyes squinting through the fog of debris until he caught sight of Alphaeus forcing his huge body through the rubble which all but parted like the red sea for him.

A quick miracle healed the gashes. Crowley took one look at the monster and grimaced.

“You’re ghastly looking. Quicker than I give you credit for, though.” The only acknowledgement he got from that comment was a scratchy laugh. The abnormal growth of his back and irregular length of his arms caused him to carry the additional weight using his knuckles like a gorilla.

The next chain of events spurred a lovely revelation Crowley had not realized until now; when Alphaeus flinched forward as if to attack he pulled back just as quick and hesitated with a calculating expression.

 _Ah_ , Crowley mused, _of course. He can’t land a hit and risk destroying the statues._ Well, this was a wonderful tidbit of information he could exploit for his benefit.

Like dangling on a hook in front of a hungry fish, Crowley wiggled and taunted. “What are you waiting for? I’m right’ere.” When the monster didn’t react, Crowley hopped back on the stone pillar to stand next to one of the demon statues and leaned his shoulder against its solid back.

The fact that these statues served as a lifeline went unspoken between them, just as Crowley intended. The entire reason they were up here alluded to this more than words were necessary for. And the wonderful thing about interpretation without confirmation was that the serpent could bend this in any direction he saw fit.

“Worried you’ll damage such fine décor?” Crowley waved a hand over the statue as if showing off a rare gem. “Or is it something else, I wonder?” He rounded the statue to leap from one stone perch to the next, keeping himself close to them as he felt the intensity of those black eyes watching him silently.

He hopped to the next statue as if dancing on a rock path across a stream. His eyes caught a glimpse of something etched into the forehead of one of the statues, glanced back at one of the other stone demons seeing the same etched symbol, and looked away quickly with a hidden smirk as to not draw attention to it.

It was all coming together.

“Let’s not waste this awkward silence, eh?” Crowley called out to Alphaeus. “Tell me, what sort of depraved itineraries did you have planned out once you— _fuckin’hell!_ ”

The creature's large body closed the difference between them, a wide clawed hand thrown out aimed directly for Crowley's heart. There was nowhere else to go but backwards, and with an expertly timed launch off the pillar he backflipped off the edge of the castle into the air.

His wings caught him quickly, and glided him back the rest of the distance to propel the momentum down in two powerful thrusts sending him flying up for a good aerial view of the rooftop to see Alphaeus curled around one of the gargoyles, using its body to keep himself balanced without damaging the structure. His impossibly thick vein-bulging neck craned up to observe Crowley gliding across the sky above him, his already distorted features scrunched to accommodate a toothy snarl.

A bead of warm liquid trailed down from a small cut on Crowley’s forehead to the corner of his eye, and he tried to ignore uneasiness at how dangerously close he’d come to having his face torn apart then.

Alphaeus barked. “Slippery thing, you are.” The snarl flipped into a mirthful grin. “Dear Anthony, won’t you come down here? I’m not _that_ terrible a’company, I assure you.”

“Piss off.” Crowley barked back, hovering above and just beyond the rooftop in case the creature used those beefy thighs of his to leap up for a lucky swipe. It was second nature to hold himself in a vertical stance while his wings kept him stationary. He folded his arms across his thin chest and fixed the Duke with a scathing sneer hoping he could see it. “No’sure what you’re playing at, but it won’t work.”

“Don’t be that way,” the monster rumbled deep and playful as if he were coaxing a child down from a steep height, “I’m not fond of hunting game in the air. Won’t you humor me?” He went for a darling smile, which was not at all how it came across unless a synonym for _darling_ was psychotic.

“We both know that’s not how it works.” Crowley kept a close eye on the way Alphaeus began crouching low as he spoke, even from how high up he hovered could still see the talons of the monster’s feet sinking into the roof’s material.

As soon as Crowley realized what was witnessing, he knew he should have acted sooner and wasted no more time to fly stories higher. There was no way of knowing how high he could leap with that new body, and Crowley found himself in a rock and a hard place; not enough distance and he risked being in the line of fire for the next attack, and too much could sway Alphaeus’ interest away to other goings-on and jeopardize the entire plan.

There was no way he would let that happen.

Without diverting attention from the monster, Crowley shot a long arm out and welcomed the familiar weight of his cane materializing into existence in his hand. A thoughtless miracle turned the blunt wooden end to a spear. As he fastened his grip around the middle, distant memories played upon the edges of his consciousness; nostalgia heavy in the way he held the weapon and for a fleeting second thought it second-nature to hurl it at a flaming chariot if only to protect Lucifer’s rebellion all those millennia ago.

Shaking himself from the remnants of those horrible memories, Crowley twisted his languid frame at the waist for the additional momentum as his arm reared back while a powerful gust from his wings canted him forward toward Alphaeus. At the same time, his eyes enlarged in horror.

Across the wind currents between them, Crowley could hear what Alphaeus said as if he were standing right next to him.

“No? Then I will just have to _come get you._ ” The thick of his body convulsed forward, the sickening movement of his back forming two abnormal growths above his shoulder blades, suddenly bursting open and unleashing a plethora of enormous wings. Spiney, webbed, and featherless, akin to batwings if there was anything in existence to compare them to, spanned out and bucked in appreciation to their newfound freedom.

“ _Fuck,_ ” tumbled out of Crowley’s mouth with the forceful exhale from his lungs as he launched the cobra headed spear down, soaring through the air aimed dead-center for Alphaeus just as he launched himself off the ground. It triggered a shockwave through the roof causing the surface to warp and buckle.

Everything happened so fast after that pivotal moment it threw Crowley into a blind panic. His split-second decision to freeze time proved to be in vain, as when he began to feel this dimension adhere to his command he was just as quickly jarred by the backlash of the miracle-manipulation shattering weakly around him.

He had not once tried to stop time around Alphaeus, and of all times for him to realize the creature was somehow _immune_ to it now would be the most tragic.

The spear struck its target directly through the meaty flesh of shoulder as Alphaeus met the weapon midair, seemingly unfazed by the injury. He closed the rest of the distance between them in a single blink and was now so close the serpent could feel the heat radiating off his body before a large knee slammed into his stomach. Human organs ruptured at the intrusion, and Crowley just barely suppressed the overwhelming urge to vomit. His senses clouded in incoherent pain, and it was like someone had just damn near ripped him in half.

As his long body curled around the knee crushing everything in his gut, Crowley opened his mouth in a blind reaction expecting to hear his own screams yet instead let out a choke and watched as beads of blood wretched from his throat. His vision fogged until the roof below was nothing more than a flickering unfocused blur. Someone was talking underwater somewhere, and his sudden inability to decipher the who and where and when of his surroundings absolutely frightened him.

It took forever to register that at some point in all this a large hand had wrapped around the base of his skull, fingers and claws enveloping his head— _like an apple_ , his brain supplied much too drunk on pain—and the pressure in his head was unlike anything he’d felt before.

Time flickered past his half-lidded eyes like a damaged roll of film, consciousness going in and out only barely realizing his body was careening lifelessly to the ground. A voice from the far recesses of his mind screamed, pleading for him to do something he could not understand what. He was so tired and falling was a familiar feeling he could handle it no problem, had done it before. Everything hurt too much to worry about landing, if he just closed his eyes now maybe the nauseating ache in his gut would go away….

The clink of champagne flutes rang in his mind, a phantom scent of old books lingered around him and he could not figure out if parts of his brain were simply malfunctioning or if someone had just stuck an old book under his nose. A warm, sweet, chocolatey fragrance overpowered the book smell, and it was just like Aziraphale to brew up that odorous monstrosity of a beverage, the bastard, he was doing it on purpose knowing full well Crowley was stopping by for a visit—

_Aziraphale._

Yellow eyes shot open, pupils no thinner than a strand of hair. Scales rippled along human flesh, and in a burst of clarity Crowley forced as much demonic energy he could into his wings which suddenly folded against his back protectively. Pulsating waves of his miracle engulfed every pristine feather just in time for him to collide with the unforgiving solidness of the roof.

Using his demonic essence to take the brunt of the landing was a brilliant decision, yet the painful repercussions of such surged through his bones like fire. Though the impact had only left a Crowley-shaped crater, it was a separate miracle on its own he had not caused a Crowley-shaped hole instead.

 _C’mon, Crowley, you can still heal_. Though his muscles refused to work and his body near mangled, at least he still had his unstoppable willpower; taking _that_ from him was a damn-near impossible feat.

_Heal…for G-Sa-somebody's sake, heal!_

His pleas were interrupted by two feet landing hard on either side of his crumpled frame, the night sky disappearing behind a huge body and endless lengths of wings fanned out in all directions around them.

The last thing Crowley saw was a wide grin layered with glistening teeth before his vision shuttered in response to talons wrapping around his neck. The strength behind those claws were controlled, that much was evident in the way they punctured into his throat which told Crowley that Alphaeus wanted him to feel every agonizing inch sinking in as torturously slow as the next.

“How beautiful you look right now.” Alphaeus whispered, mesmerized, and only a little breathless as he leaned in close to admire the sight beneath him. “Broken, ruined, like a…like a _fallen angel_.” Crowley felt the sting of that remark worse than the puncture wounds in his throat. If he weren’t so banged up right now, he would have had half a mind to headbutt the bastard.

The hand not currently crushing Crowley’s windpipe reached across a broad chest to wrap thick fingers around the makeshift spear deeply imbedded in his shoulder, yanking it out with one quick jerk as if removing a pesky splinter despite the wet squelch and spray of black cruor following its removal. The monster appeared in no way hindered by his actions, and thoughtlessly tossed it over his shoulder while maintaining his fascinated stare.

Alphaeus clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Decisions, decisions…,” bulging eyes roamed over his catch almost tenderly. “How should I do it?” He was clearly not asking for Crowley’s opinion. “Should I tear your limbs off one by one and relish in your screams? Mm,” he shook his head, “much too cliché.”

A demented idea must have popped into his horned head then because the inspired twinkle in his eyes promised horrifying things. Alphaeus tilted his head to look at Crowley from a different angle and the chorus of cracks in his neck were drowned out by the rumbling chuckle from deep in his throat. His free hand dropped to land flat on the serpent’s chest, a hungry expression flashing across his face when he could feel the frantic heartbeats against the base of his open palm.

“You can watch me feast on you.” He sounded so proud of himself. “Doesn’t that sound like fun? You—”

“ _Hah_ ,” Crowley couldn’t help the gargled laugh like one could not help a knee-jerk reaction, “ _a_ _h-haha….”_

Alphaeus, caught completely off guard by it, blanched in confusion which only encouraged more wet chokes of laughter from the battered redhead, at one point hacking a bit of blood to pepper his chin. His lips pulled back and flashed a fanged, bloodstained grin.

“ _..muss’be…lonely,_ ” every word felt akin to swallowing daggers and sandpaper, but the serpent just couldn’t help himself, “ _…lgh-lonely…on’yer side. No one bu’you._ ”

“What?” Alphaeus sounded equal parts offended and irritated, the joy of his victorious hunt temporarily set aside to gaze curiously at the demon turning blueish purple under his strangling hold.

“ _Must be…_ ,” Crowley wheezed like a busted steam engine. One sluggish blink brought glossy molten-yellow irises shifting to the right, his head moving just a fraction to gaze in the distance behind Alphaeus.

“… _wha’took you ssso long?”_

A rainbow of different emotions ran across Alphaeus’ face ranging from anger to bewilderment, lingering on consternation before ending on blatant horror as he finally realized who he could have possibly been speaking to, and slowly turned to follow Crowley’s stare.

The malformed, gargantuan body above him froze the second black eyes locked with the blazing fury of Heaven’s scathing inferno burning gold and sapphire in the eyes of a certain angel whose presence had been lost in the throes of his mindless lust for bloodshed, too addicted to the adrenaline of his hunt to now realize this as she stared back at him, waves of unforgiving rage emanating from her.

“… _she looks miffed_.” Crowley rasped over the slackening hold on his throat, absolutely loving the show in front of him. From his strangely cozy Crowley-shaped dent, he watched the fear on the creature’s face parry with the righteous fury of Aziraphale’s expression and could not help but suck his bloodstained teeth with his tongue mockingly. _“She’s warned’ya before…n-not’ta touch me._ ”

Aziraphale could be a possessi- _protective_ little thing when she wanted to be. He’d seen her bristle when Alphaeus caressed his face earlier and had almost broke character to swoon like the love besotted fool he was.

Aziraphale stood rigid and silent a good distance from them, glaring scorching holes at the beast. He watched her arms lift, hands moving in strange ways creating foreign symbols with her fingers as she slowly rotated her wrists. Her movements were serene and precise. As she did this, a glowing circle materialized against the ground at her feet, lines forming and connecting to create a sigil drawn in an ancient celestial language.

The circle illuminated, manipulating the space around it; wind caught in its invisible pull began whipping around the angel in a vortex-like current, fluttering the fabric of her clothes and tugging small locks of her hair from the barrettes pinning them in place to dance around her round face.

Veins of blue lightning crawled up from the sigil to dissipate instantly, and more sprouted forth in their place. Alphaeus shifted away from Crowley as if he were wanting to move but had no idea what to do once he started.

The winds became erratic, the lightning thicker and sprouting faster, and still the angel performed the same silent incantation using the same adroit motions; palms met and shifted, fingers touched, folded, threading together and pulling apart without a single flinch or stutter. Satan did Crowley love watching his angel when she was this concentrated.

In Crowley’s peripheral vision on either side, spheres of light emitted with the same radiant flare as the sigil in front of Aziraphale, and unlike Alphaeus he didn’t need to look just to find out what they were, merely doing so to admire his angel’s artistic flare.

Alphaeus whipped his head around seeing every one of his precious gargoyles engulfed in similar heavenly light, an exact replica of the same sigil at Aziraphale’s feet surrounding each of the statues. Crowley could practically see the gears churning so hard in the creatures brain it would have been to no one's shock if smoke billowed out from the overworked mechanics.

Reality finally dawned on the monster in the form of open-mouthed horror.

 _“NO!”_ A roar expelled from his broad chest and tore through the air. All at once he lifted off Crowley, claws unlatching as his body twisted up and around to lunge at Aziraphale, clusters of wings scrambling behind him desperate to keep up.

Aziraphale remained unfazed by the beast hurdling straight toward her, movements as unflappable and precise as when she first started. She didn’t even blink, but her arms did extend out in front of her, bending at the elbow with wrists lined up until one hand covered the top of the other. In one quick thrust, they propelled down directly above the middle of the sigil. Forcible winds shot straight up into the sky and lightning shortly followed.

Alphaeus only made it halfway before the ground trembled beneath them, and not a second later the replicated sigils around each statue blazed bright. Lightening crawled up the stone silhouettes, and the surrounding area erupted in simultaneous explosions sending stone flying, demonic spiritual pressure releasing in sizzling hisses of colorful mists quickly dissolving into nothing in the night air.

A fantastic display of destruction by the hands of an ethereal being made of God’s light and love exercising countless tortured demons from their eternal prisons was a sight which nearly brought Crowley to tears, but sadly he could not spend a minute longer admiring such a beautiful scene as he concentrated on putting his broken body back together. The healing may have taken only slightly longer than it should have, because as focused as his attention needed to be on healing he would justify the small fraction sacrificed to watch Alphaeus’ reaction at having his lifeline, his source of power, completely eradicated.

Ichor projectile-spewed from Alphaeus’ lips, his overgrown stature frozen in mid-sprint soon jostled by a full-body convulsion, the result of something unforeseen wracking his body from the inside.

One unstable step forward, and the demented hybrid finally collapsed in a fit of writhing limbs and hysterical screams: panic, fear, pain, the pitch of his screams twisting with his body. Crowley managed to tear his eyes away to check on Aziraphale. Her glowing sigil, torrential winds, and lightning had all disappeared and left her standing quietly with eyes closed and head tilted up as though she were taking a moment to breathe. He didn’t blame her.

Ashes drifted through soft breezes carried over the roof from the distant sea, and Crowley followed the trail back to the dissipating remains of Alphaeus’ colossal wings, his gnarled horns already broken off laying forgotten to the side, torn and stretched clothing swallowing his sudden shriveled appearance. He’d grown so much for such a period it was strange to see what was considered an average human size look so small on Alphaeus.

Now healed enough to move freely, Crowley lifted himself up to stand on exhausted legs feeling more like a newborn foal trying to walk than an ancient serpent. He took tired sluggish steps toward the monster, cringing at the devastation Alphaeus did to his own body by manipulating it beyond what a mortal body could endure. 

He did call it, after all. Similar to a star collapsing on itself, Gastrell’s anatomy did just that; from hulking veiny muscles were now hollow angles, stretched skin sagging from his bones. Upon closer inspection, the serpent’s stomach lurched at all the _blood_ and ichor streaming from his nose, ears, mouth, and eyes. Crimson mixed with black in a sickening concoction splattered and smeared all around him.

“Gruesome,” Crowley whispered to himself, almost a little sympathetic. But then again, sympathy could sometimes be easily confused for pity. But those _screams…._

“ _Mmmake-make't stop!”_ Alphaeus screeched as another fit sent him curling and uncurling in misery. “ _A_ _urchgh...es tut weh! Nononono! Ehh-Es brennt-ES BRENNT—_!” Blunt human fingernails clawed against rough ground, legs kicked, and hips bucked in useless attempts to rid himself of the blinding pain. His words were choked and wet from the bubbling blood in his ghostly pale throat. Those eyes, of all the different emotions Crowley had watched swim within those bottomless pools, this was the first time the demon had seen them so sunken, so clouded from pain and fear.

He looked more mortal in that moment than he had the night of the party when they had discovered the detective’s mutilated body and the memory of that night felt more like it had been years ago instead of days.

“Bloody Christ,” Crowley swore under a hiss. He almost, _almost_ , regretted his earlier excitement at wanting to witness this thing’s destruction. Yellow eyes darkened and thin brows narrowed.

“Can’t say you didn’t have this coming to you, but….”

If Alphaeus heard those words he made no attempt to acknowledge them over his suffering. This man, once so proud and eccentric, whose voice boomed with brass and bravado across the halls of the castle, who thought himself so cunning and so clever, was now a crumpled bloody mess and a dying shell of his former self and making it nearly impossible to think who Crowley was watching right now was the very proud and confident Duke Alphaeus Gastrell.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called out without turning away, “perhaps we should—I’dunno, do _something_ , I mean are you _seeing_ this? It’s making me ill, and for a demon that’s saying a lot.”

“Crowley….”

“Don’t go saying I’ve gone _soft_ , I’aven’t!” Crowley scoffed, his hands absentmindedly patting the dust off his sad excuse for an outfit not entirely sure if all the miracles it would take to remove the many stains, wrinkles, and tears were worth the trouble. “Just…Angel, he won’t stop screaming,” he almost whined and considered throwing puppy-eyes at the angel if she didn’t agree with him, “'an he’s wiggling around’n bleedin’—”

The way Aziraphale said his name had Crowley whipping his head around in alarm and also a little confused; they had defeated the villain, saved the day, and came out with both of their lives. Though it was understandably a little too early for celebrations, he also could not fathom why Aziraphale sounded so _scared_.

“Hey, what’s...Angel?”

She had not moved from where she stood, and despite their distance the serpent knew a pained look when he saw one, knew what Aziraphale's version of one looked like from a mile away. The nauseating lurch in his stomach came back full force.

One hand on her chest and the other palm up and trembling in front of her, Aziraphale stared at the hand between unfocused glances around it as if finding the answer to whatever troubled her hanging in the air. Blue eyes dark and quivering finally flickered up to exchange a frightened look with his worried one.

Her quickening breaths clawed at his heart. Could she not breathe? Crowley took two steps forward and almost broke into a run.

"Aziraphale?" He hated how shrill her name sounded.

“Crowley, I…,” Aziraphale gasped, and maybe she _was_ having trouble breathing?. A panic attack? His angel always swore through bold-faced lies she never had them, but he knew better.

She continued despite her hyperpnea. “I-I-Something’s not right,” she suddenly looked flushed, “…it’s…I’m burning up…i-in here,” she patted her chest and swallowed thickly between pants, “I don’t understand….”

“Angel,” Crowley held a hand up to calm her, “deep breaths, remember? I’m right here, just focus on—”

“It’s not that,” Aziraphale blurted out like she was running out of time, “I think you-you should k-keep away….” Her panicked request was not the reason why Crowley suddenly froze in terror, it was something much worse.

Rays of light emitted from a jagged crack splitting across the left side of her soft flushed cheek, another spidering from her eyelid past her brow and up her forehead where her the hairline masked the rest of its trail. Another, and another, and suddenly the visible parts of her skin were cracking like a porcelain doll.

The scream that echoed through the air was not from Alphaeus that time, but from Crowley. Just as the demon realized he was in an all out sprint toward her, the sight of blazing gold-sapphire irises burned into his corneas before his world was enveloped in a blinding inferno followed by an explosion of heat swallowing everything in its path including Crowley’s consciousness, throwing him into a world of cold numbing darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Aziraphale (ノಥ_ಥ)ノ just when things were looking up. Speaking of, I hope Alphaeus' suffering was to everyone's liking. At one point I started to feel sort of bad for him, but then I remembered all the shitty things he's done and quickly got over it.
> 
> I promise, all this angst will be worth what's to come! And soon too, because we only have a handful of chapters left!
> 
> Let me know what you thought! As always, your comments bring me life I love all of them <333 Thank you for reading!


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very brief chapter! I have another busy week coming up so there may be a slight delay with the next chapter. Thank you for all the continued support, the kudos, bookmarks, and comments. You guys are so amazing <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings! - vague/very mild references to gore.

Crowley woke to flames and raining embers from a dream he now could not remember. When his eyes opened, his senses immediately reacted to the nature of his surroundings and for a fleeing moment made him appreciate what he was as he observed his outstretched arm currently laying on a bed of flaming rubble like a log of wood, his sleeve long ago burned away during his unconscious state but the flesh appeared unmarred save for soot stains.

The flames licking and dancing around his forearm only tickled. Crowley pulled his arm out of the fire and planted trembling hands next to him, lifting himself weakly off the ground one motion at a time until he sat up and slouched forward. Blinking away any lingering disorientation, Crowley had to remind himself of what he was seeing; he certainly could not call it a castle. A destroyed battleground was more fitting. How long had he been out?

Plumes of black smoke and red-hot embers veiled the night sky, masking the area from the world outside. Collapsed walls, mountains, and piled mounds of all shapes and sizes smoldered, some engulfed in a blazing inferno and others billowing thick smoke through layers upon layers of castle remains.

It was a scene straight from a Hell depicted through the imagination of humans via religious texts and renaissance paintings. Crowley had to taken credit for that one; there was no way these humans would have any imagination for the creative arts if they really knew Hell looked nothing like this in most of its realms. Leaky pipes and rusted file cabinets as far as the eye could see would never have inspired beautiful mosaics and cherished artwork. He had to give them _something_ flashy to work with.

Regardless, across the hellish landscape a blinding mass of heat and ethereal radiance caught Crowley’s attention with squinted eyes. Marble eyes burned at the sight, and the reason had nothing to do with the brightness of the mass, but the divinity of it.

Mortal flames did nothing to Crowley, but holy flames did.

As if the Sun had crash-landed right on top of the castle, it hovered over the collapsed remains destroying everything in its vicinity. Wings of fire shooting out like solar flares consumed what oxygen was left in the air. Crowley focused despite his discomfort to see shifting silhouettes. On the outermost edge of the blazing sphere were two enormous churning wheels, pushing winds in dimensional patterns not found in this plane of existence.

They were what held the circular shape and contained the bulk of power within their confines albeit unsteady and disorganized. Those solar flares he watched sprout and lash out blindly _were_ in fact wings, Crowley could make out what would have been feathers were just connected patterns of individual flames.

It took a few attempts to stand but once Crowley gathered himself, he strode forward with a limp he had no idea as to what caused it and frankly did not care to find out.

His left shoulder had been forced out of socket. Ah, that explained why it hung like a dead thing at his side. Lovely. He would just have to continue onward feeling like the misshapen ghoul he was not.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or his steadfastly draining demonic energy the closer he got to the exposed angelic soul hovering monstrously over the destruction around it, or all the above with the wonderful addition of a head injury given the pulsating ache in the back of his skull, but seeing all of this bubbled a laugh from his throat to pilfer out pitifully into the smokey air.

“Hah…oh, Angel,” he huffed in a dark-humored sort of way, “downright mess, you are.” As if his angel had spilled a tea kettle over the sloppy spread of her reading desk, he continued to softly chastise her knowing well she could not hear him. “You— _we_ …we didn’t account for this, did we?”

Of course, they didn’t. If they were both just a fraction more competent this would not have happened.

Crowley exhaled through his nostrils heavy and only a little patronizing at their sad state. “What a cockup this has turned out to be….”

“…but don’worry, Angel. I’m here now,” the demon raised his voice hoping the volume would work better while immediately knowing it would not, “we’ll patch you up _ngk_ —” his dragging feet finally caught the edge of a buckled uplifted piece of ground and he stumbled hard but caught himself quickly, “—get you nice’n straightened out. Yeah?”

No one answered outside of the roaring flames and gut-wrenching noise made from the gigantic churning wheels. At least it was a good attempt.

The closer Crowley got, the less he could fight off the knowledge his skin was burning. Someone had once explained to the demon what it felt like to be outside under a cloudless sky at the hottest time of the day with no parasol and thinking back on that this was probably the closest comparison.

Or sleeping face down across a pew in a church, which he would never actually do but on several occasions had been beyond intoxicated enough to be tempted to. A sheen of perspiration broke out across Crowley’s tanned flesh and he suddenly realized something was not right when he was positive that mechanical feature in his corporation had been turned off.

His essence bristled from it’s compartment inside his human form. _It’s alright_ , Crowley coaxed, _just a little more._ He only hesitated once when he arrived at the barrier of the blinding sphere just a foot from the path of rotating wheels. Millions, perhaps billions or more for all he knew, of eyes the deepest blue and vibrant gold, swiveled around with racey uncertain glances never seeming to recognize what they saw. That, or they were fearful and overly cautious of their surroundings in a haze Crowley knew all too well.

“Don’t fret, Angel.” His lungs began working, and it was swiftly becoming harder to breathe. “Just a small oversight. Nothing new for us, eh? Should’ve,” he stopped to inhale and exhale slowly, “realized those bloody statues…held more than what we thought.”

It was all so obvious now, comically so.

“We’ll get all that extra _you_ back in your shell. Just…,” a pained groan cut him off, “g-gimme a second t’get there.”

To stave off the oncoming boils of burning flesh, Crowley called upon his scales to shield himself. They did little to help, but enough to continue his journey until he chose a safe distance to stop. Straining scorched corneas made out Aziraphale’s corporation in the center of the sphere. _Thank you_ , he said to no one in particular, merely grateful the angel’s mortal body had not been destroyed. He didn’t understand how, some otherworldly physics lesson for another day, but whatever the reason was a miracle on its own.

Though it was not destroyed, it was also not in good enough shape to stop Crowley from worrying.

Okay, so Aziraphale was now a metaphysical puzzle split in various intricately cut pieces. They stayed close to be considered kin to human anatomy but remained in a suspended animation by a pure white mass shining through the spaces between the pieces.

If Crowley was not already fearful and concerned, he would have been struck by the beautiful flaws marring his normally perfect angel; a blank expression void of emotion or sentience, eyes replaced by clean white nothing, jagged shards somehow still resembling arms hung limp by her sides, dainty feet dangled lifelessly a foot above the ground. Aziraphale’s face was comprised of three denticulate fractures floating close enough to distinguish with no explainable reason how.

It was Aziraphale, and yet it was not. It was just her corporation. The _real_ Aziraphale was all around him, though a distorted version far from her composed collected self was authentically his Aziraphale. Crowley would not be upset with her. Could he confidently say he knew what do if two-thirds of his essence came bursting back into existence in the span of a millisecond? No.

Technically, he was _inside_ Aziraphale and he was only a little putout that the overall mood in the air allowed no room for Crowley to enjoy the innuendo.

Each deep breath only did so much to keep him conscious. Crowley could not longer ignore the heat boiling his insides as it seeped like ink into the corners of his vision. He blinked it away or at least tried to. This was not about him. This was about putting Aziraphale back together while the damage was still reversible, and somewhere in his mind the sound of a clock ticked the seconds away in warning that his time was extremely limited.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley called out, his body swaying a little. No answer. “Gonna need you to put some effort into it.” It was apparent this would not be as easy a feat as the demon hoped. His sizzling shoulders slumped, rubbing irritably against the strangely undeterred fabric of his clothes and it felt like his skin was melting off from the friction.

“ _Zzir’phale_ , please,” Crowley could barely pull his head up after it slouched forward. Breathing through such a suffocating heat was near impossible. “Angel, m'not gonna last much long if you keep this up.” Her self-induced guilt would take Crowley decades to purge from her conscience.

His essence screamed in rebellion to his actions. Yes, he knew what he was doing was all parts stupid and reckless, but that kind of behavior just accompanied being in love with Aziraphale; the sky is blue, grass is green, and a demon's love for an angel was stupid and reckless.

“Angel—” a whip-fast flail from one of her thousands of flaming wings cracked the hot air not too far from where Crowley stood and the shockwave intensity clipped him with almost enough force to send his body crashing back down to the warped unforgiving ground. He let out a loud cry of pain and his body instinctively curled in on itself in defense. Any closer, and he would have been a smoldering pile of ash right now.

Two painful wretches later, and when Crowley lifted his head up once more he was frozen in place by a million-eyed stare. It seemed his cry of pain jarred their attention enough to focus intently on his haggard state. He felt exposed by their eyes, his sinful soul made vulnerable and naked.

But he was not afraid. If at first nothing appeared to make sense to them, the cumulative looks his way were far from unrecognition. Some small part of Aziraphale knew he was there; some eyes were stretched wide in quivering horror, some pinched in concern, and some—oh, he knew _that look_.

“M’not mad, Angel, don’t worry.” Crowley smiled weakly, a poor attempt to back up the reassurance but it was better than nothing. His labored breathing swayed his slim frame back and forth on unsteady feet, one arm completely useless while the other close to it, and the demon knew he must have looked terrible and he also knew she would blame herself for this until the end of the world.

“Right as rain, me. We serpents are quite the resilient species…,” he trailed off with a soft frown when the air shifted around him suddenly like a cloak. Whatever this anomaly was working in the space around him, it wrapped him in a cool blanket of pressure and blocked the worst of the heavenly radiation before it could charr his already flayed and cracking flesh.

It was healing him at nearly the same rate the rays were burning his body which cancelled each other out. _Always thinking of others before yourself_ , Crowley would expect nothing less from his selfless, caring little angel. With this small gift, he carried his body forward to where Aziraphale’s fractured body hovered, mindful of his steps to keep from collapsing.

“I dunno’bout you, Angel, but…I can’t wait to go home.” Satan, did he want to go home. “Back to London…where the air smells like shite, people are loud, and-and where you and I…,” he needed more acknowledgement from her, he was desperate for anything at this point, “where we can drink all day—all day, together, and talk about nothing’n everything.”

The pain in his lungs were now excruciating, but he was now standing right in front of Aziraphale’s corporation. With the foot of space between her feet and the ground, Crowley thought it kind of interesting to be able to stand eye-to-eye with her even if her eyes were vacant white realms of light.

Crowley didn’t care. He had said it before, and he would say it again; appearances did not matter; his angel would be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and always would be.

Now only inches apart, Crowley could not help but sputter out a small chuckle. “Look’et us. Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

Levees broke from out of nowhere and opened a floodgate of unrestrained emotion from the demon’s supposedly black heart, travelling up a quivering throat to pour out from a trembling frown as Crowley fixed Aziraphale with a somber expression. “I need you here, Angel…need you to-to come back.”

However much the conscious part of Aziraphale tried to protect him, it was evident her essence was slowly killing him. At this rate they would both be dead within minutes, and was that not the most tragic Shakespearean style ending to their story Crowley had ever heard? Of course it was, in some spiteful fate that mocked his distaste for the man’s gloomier plays.

When his angel said nothing or showed any further acknowledgment of his presence outside of the millions of worried stares around them, Crowley promptly changed tactic.

Whether human, demon, or angel, it did not matter; forcing an appendage back into socket was bloody painful, and Crowley only screamed a little but bit off the remainder of the scream with his forked tongue crunched between his sharp fangs.

He closed the distance between them and wrapped long arms around her broken frame, bringing their bodies together in a mix of comfort and agonizing misery as once their bodies fitted against one another's her exposed divine essence threatened to exorcise his demonic one, but despite it all he held her firmly against him. Crowley nuzzled his singed face against her neck passed the wild static-blown blond curls, inhaling her intoxicating scent between tender kisses against her ear, all while wishing for just a moment he could simply enjoy the feeling of holding Aziraphale so intimately without their impending death creeping deftly around the corner.

His arms squeezed protectively around her. “…don’t take him.” It was spoken in vehement whisper, and Crowley knew he did not have to vocalize he was no longer speaking to Aziraphale, and also knew he did not have to for _Her_ to know either.

“Him…her…don’t matter. You…,” his lungs suddenly stopped working, “y-you…can’t have _my angel._ ” It was a daring thing to claim one of Her angels as his own so possessively. A challenge, an ultimate sin even. He hoped it got Her attention because he was not finished growling into Aziraphale’s hair. “C-Can’t…,” yet desperation fell swift and heavy just then in the form of a hiccupped sob, “can’t… _please_ , you can’t," his hold on her tightened as if scared something or an all-powerful creator would tear her out of his arms in that moment just to spite him, "...Aziraphale’s the only thing I'ave left.” Tears blurring the serpent’s fading vision evaporated shortly after they formed. “You've already t-taken everything else, don’t take my angel…please.” 

What would the opinions of Hell be, he wondered, if word ever got out that a demon pleaded with God for an angel’s life.

Finally, Crowley’s body gave out on him limb by limb until he could no longer hold himself up. Fleetingly, he could have sworn he felt pressure around his middle, of something akin to the comforting embrace of two strong arms before he once again fell into the empty cold void of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Crowley T_T poor thing has been through so much. That is why I'm happy to say.. *Potential Spoiler* 
> 
> ..with only some angst left, we are past the worst of it! woohoo~! We can get back to mending our hearts with some ineffable fluff <3
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I will ever stop being blown away by all the love and support for this story. It is really and truly a pleasure to see so many kudos and bookmarks, to read all the comments and melt over the amazing fanart. And speaking of, these awesome people referenced below have made fanart, and wow please feel free to check it out at the links below!
> 
> Chai_Muffin's work  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344668/chapters/58703347
> 
> Tarpiteyes' work:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/search/what+lies+in+the+castle+walls  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/tarpiteyes/624552385127333888

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Feels Time, yall. I promised, I have delivered, and I hope you all enjoy <33 only warnings: references to gory elements, character death (*cough* part two).

Who knew a death beyond the realm of Heaven and Hell could feel so… _soft?_ And warm, and so cozy Crowley could happily spend forever in an afterlife that resembled an eternal slumber like the one he was in currently.

To add to the allure, the gentle rhythmic strokes against his scalp tempted a purr that would have put any feline to shame if he were capable of such. Whatever it was pampering him so lovingly, he would pray to it just to ensure the blend of soft caresses and gentle scratches never ended.

Crowley was not one to critique a good thing, but he was one to always question it and for a demon to be shown this type of attention was downright suspicious enough to make him squirm.

With a small amount of control, he felt the shell of his existence twitch. Good to know he still had some sort of physical form in this strange realm. And whatever he did just then triggered a chain-reaction of sensations flooding back into his consciousness. Though the soft pillow under his head and gentle stroking were amazing, he did have some opinions about the rock-hard surface underneath the rest of his body and could do without the overwhelming smell of smoke.

Oh, so he _did_ have eyes. The darkness of his surroundings was because they were closed, not because he was dead. Good to know he had a choice in all this.

It took a few tries but once he was finally able to get the muscles around his eyes working, they fluttered weakly open. As if drawing back a curtain to see a grand prize hiding behind it, he was pleased to find himself focusing on two affectionate stormy grayish blue orbs watching him.

Reality settled in slow and swift; he was not dead, which was a good thing and meant he did not have to say goodbye to the world he enjoyed so much and the angel he loved so dearly.

Speaking of said angel, the second Crowley mapped out the details of tenderness on her soft round face above him, curtained by cascading blond curls resting against her shoulders, the sight nearly brought a sob from his sore throat.

Twitching as if wanting to move despite the lead weight in his bones, the demon’s dry lips peeled open so he could rasp, “… _A_ - _Angel_ …?”

Aziraphale shushed him with a slight shake of her head. “Yes, it’s me. Try not to move, I’m almost finished healing you.”

Crowley did not need to be told twice and nodded once before snuggling back into the cushiony comfort of her plump thighs cradling his head. Orange flickering light highlighted angles and curved shadows around them. Serpent eyes glanced around their surroundings warily.

“...er’we still…?”

Aziraphale nodded, ensuring he wouldn’t have to finish the question. “I chose not to relocate too far until I was certain your body could handle it. Just a bit more, dear.” Her fingers combed through his locks again, fingernails lightly scratching across his scalp nearly lulling him back to sleep.

Crowley fought it only a little to quell his growing curiosity. “Mm…,” he suddenly cringed, “…nrgh, y’shouldn’t see me like this, Angel. I probly look like shit—”

“What did I say about talking?” Aziraphale chided without a shred of temper. “You look,” she paused as the corners of her lips quirked cutely and after a quick once-over of her demon’s long body splayed out in front of her blinked back to meet his eyes, “like the brave, clever old serpent I know. That’s all that matters to me, my darling.”

“O-Oh…well then.” Crowley finally conceded, blaming the heat from the fires for his flushed cheeks. His observant eyes did not miss the hazy glow of a barrier around them. The angel caught his stare and clarified for him. “The flames will not reach us here. I made sure they knew so. We…came to an agreement of sorts.” She smirked. “They can have the castle so long as they keep their distance from us.”

Why hadn’t Crowley thought of that? “Clever,” he quipped from his dry throat, “good thinking, Angel.”

They sat in comfortable silence save for the roaring flames in the distance and crackles of smoldering remains, each absorbed in their own recollections of the past few hours. So much had happened, so many decisions and worries now just memories. With each passing second Crowley could not help but revel greedily in his angel’s healing energy mending broken bones and burned flesh, turning to goop from the little cooing and humming sounds she made.

A new thought surged to the forefront of the serpent’s mind, nearly lurching his body up if were not for the firm hold Aziraphale had on his shoulder as if she knew he would try. He glanced up at her with a new worried expression.

“Angel…is-is he…?”

Aziraphale knew what exactly who he was referring to and a sudden pinched look on her face dwindled his words into a curious noise. Narrowed eyes twitched, plump lips pursed to one corner in contemplation of how to answer. Deciding words were not necessary, Aziraphale nudged her chin to somewhere in the distance around them. Crowley shifted a little in her lap and this time she helped shift him in a position that allowed him to follow the direction of her gesture.

A few yards away laid a mound of smoldering rubble of stone and destroyed lumber and caught under a large slab of bricks laid the familiar broken form of Alphaeus. Fortunately, Crowley could only see the upper half of the man’s body from his stomach and up instead of the rest of him gruesomely crushed under the rubble.

Arms splayed out lifelessly next to him, the Duke laid pinned on his back facing up at the starry night sky. The only indication of life left in him was the slight movement of his lips and the trail of tears down the visible side of his face, glistening against the light of the nearby flames as they traveled across the shell of his ear to splash upon the rocks supporting his head.

Crowley could not read Alphaeus’ lips and did not have to as he soon heard the words albeit whispered could still make out the breathy sounds spoken into the air.

“ _…v-vergib mir…Mutter..vergib mir-mir,_ ” he said this over and over like a prayer, barely breathing. Crowley wasn’t well fluent in German, knowing only enough to get through a short stay, but he had a fairly good idea what those words meant.

“How long’s he been like that?” Crowley murmured up to the angel.

Her eyes softened as she continued to watch the same scene and shrugged one shoulder. “Not long.”

Crowley nodded quietly. “How long’s he got?”

Another small shrug. “Not long.”

Crowley nodded again—

 _“K-Konnte dich…ng-nicht..retten, Mutter…,_ ”

—and cringed at the evident struggle in each word, bits of life slipping faster by the sound of it yet sadly not fast enough to stave off a slow painful death.

The irony of it all; Crowley had spent too long in wait for the moment when Alphaeus would feel a miserably drawn-out death, one minute for every person he had inflicted pain on during his blind selfish need for vengeance, and yet….

He blamed his thousands of years around emotional humans, that had to have been the reason why Crowley forced down the surging bouts of sympathy while he watched Alphaeus use his last breaths calling out to his mother. And with how destroyed this man’s body was, it was even a miracle he was still alive.

Aziraphale’s voice broke the spell over the scenery. “Alphaeus…?” The tone in her voice, how serene and firm it was, could have meant a million different things but it was clearly spoken with more sympathy than what the demon was trying to choke down. As expected from an angel.

 _May your sins be forgiven,_ he waited for the next part. If not that then most likely a, _may your repentances be heard and your soul cleansed_ , or his personal favorite to gag on, _may you be welcomed into the warmth and light of Heaven’s embrace_.

But Aziraphale said none of those things, which was yet another reason why Crowley loved this particular angel. He looked up just in time for what she said next.

“…your mother did not die a crippled sinner.” From a conversation Crowley assumed he was not privy to between the two of them, he decided to observe from the sidelines curious to see it play out.

When he looked back to Alphaeus, he was surprised to see the dying man staring back at them. What was more surprising was the very human eyes, though clouded and surrounded by the vibrant red of ruptured blood vessels, gleamed a pure amber color under a film of very human tears. His face sunken, complexion ashen behind the dried blood and ichor streaks across his skin, and raven hair matted with soot and dirt, he looked years younger than he ever had.

The illusion of a frightened young boy mourning for his mother was all Crowley could see before Aziraphale’s next tender-spoken words broke the immersion.

“She was loved, unconditionally, until the end.” A thoughtful pause stretched, most likely given to Alphaeus so he could process what she said. “…she’s resting now…and so should you.”

There was no underlying promise that Alphaeus would end up in the same afterlife as his mother, or a guarantee that his soul would be cleansed, or sins forgiven before his eternal sleep. Aziraphale knew it, Crowley knew it, and perhaps even Alphaeus knew that he would not be given such salvation for the atrocities he committed. But despite whether or not he knew, the dying man did something which tempted a startled gasp from the demon.

In response to Aziraphale’s soothing words, Alphaeus blinked very slowly as the last fresh trail of tears fell and with a soft swallow twitched the corners of his blood stained mouth in a way that was not quite a smile, but it was not a frown either. In its own way, it appeared peaceful.

Alphaeus willed the last of his strength to turn and face the sky, saying nothing further, and died gazing up at the stars.

The still silence that followed was an intentional one; Aziraphale always believed in small moments of respectful silence after a death no matter who or what, that was just the type of being she was. Crowley would respect his angel’s wishes and join her in the moment.

It was short lived, as the demon promptly decided that was enough and let out a loud heavy breath which earned him a halfhearted nudge.

Crowley didn’t miss a beat. “Feels like I lost a few pounds with that sigh.”

“I don’t blame you, dear.”

It was finally over; the castle destroyed, the demented owner dead, and Crowley and Aziraphale were together in the end to see it all through. Things could finally heal and go back to normal—

Normal. Come to think of it, a _new_ normal would be more appropriate. On the heels of that thought surged a new one, one that did not just surge but sprinted up from Crowley’s heart up his throat and used the pad of his tongue to launch out impulsively.

“Aziraphale,” he was not sure if he tilted his head to watch her reaction or to chase the words back into his mouth, “…remember earlier after I’d chased you around, when I was acting all mad and you thought I was about to eat you? Remember that?”

“Oh,” it was sharp and barely patient just like the look she flashed him, “I do.”

Crowley trudged forward recklessly, “you…you’d said something…,” he paused, and she waited patiently, “it-ah-you said…erh-a four-letter word. Ah, a _certain_ four-letter word, if you recall…?” He let his words dwindle in hopes she would pick up on the stuttering mess of a question.

Aziraphale’s brows twitched until what he said ignited something inside her head and he could see the exact second her memories focused in on the very memory he was referring to, felt it in the way her body suddenly went rigid underneath his head. The featherlight hold on his shoulder squeezed, yet her face remained perfectly steeled against any emotions trying to break through.

He was not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Crowley swallowed down the growing dread, finding this almost more terrifying than his fight with the Duke on the rooftop. When Aziraphale did not reply, the serpent took her frozen stare as his first answer.

Meeting her impenetrable stare, he whispered, “did you…do you mean it?”

Seconds felt like hours while he waited for the ice to melt from Aziraphale’s face. Finally, with a single blink, he watched her mouth move and heard the faintest reply, a meek whisper.

“Is it—is it alright if I do?” Fingertips worried nervously into the groove of his shoulder.

Crowley let out another heavy sigh more relieving than the one prior.

Not wasting a chance to be dramatic, he shook his head slowly and watched her pale before deciding he would not torture his little angel further.

“S’more than alright. It’s _perfectly_ alright. Wouldn’t mind hearing it more often, actually.” He raised a hand to cover Aziraphale’s just over the bend of his shoulder, sliding long fingers between hers with an affectionate squeeze, the smirk that accompanied put a lovely cherry-red blush on her cheeks as they rounded to make room for a beautiful smile big enough to overflow into her eyes.

And that was all it took for Crowley and Aziraphale to be on the same page, and that was just the kind of perfect dynamic they had. His angel did not need him to say it to believe Crowley loved her; after all, he’d been saying it for thousands of years in the privacy of his head and showing it for hundreds. Aziraphale always did need more time to come around, and that was okay, because Crowley would wait however long it took for her to vocalize it.

The other reason, one more logical and foreboding, was that neither of them knew what would happen if a demon were to utter such a forbidden word, one spoke with an intention driven from a genuine faith in its existence. This being expressed for an angel was only the proverbial cherry on top of the unspeakably prophane crime automatically deserving of a death sentence.

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to wait for the day Crowley would be able to say it freely and open and without the hovering fear of persecution.

“Angel….”

“Hm?”

Crowley sighed. “Can we leave? I’m feelin’ pretty healed now.”

“A splendid idea, dear boy.” Aziraphale chirped eagerly. She shifted underneath him at the same time he lifted himself up and around to sit beside her. Just as she moved to stand, he abruptly threw a hand to the crook of her elbow and stopped her.

“I’m gonna regret saying this, but I could _really_ go for a bottle of miracled bourba—”

A rolling lurch nearby was the only warning given for whatever demonic energy left stored inside Alphaeus’ body combusted, the sound like a wet _pop_ before both angel and demon were splattered with hybrid remains.

-:-

“Say whatever you’d like, I say it was _entirely_ unnecessary.”

Crowley would not disagree with her fussing this time.

“Yeah. And gross. Here.” The bourbon sloshed in the bottle as he extended it back to Aziraphale, who all but snatched it in that polite angelic fashion of hers.

Aziraphale furiously glugged down two large swallows and if anyone asked, they were dainty sips because she was already in a mood Crowley would not push it.

Staring dismissably at the enormous bonfire in the distance that was a blazing castle, he felt kindred to the mass of smoldering rubble feeling a little like a pile of smoldering rubble himself. A smoldering, slimy, putrid pile.

They had retreated rather hastily after being blasted with demon-human hybrid remains, utterly offended and equally as disgusted. Finding refuge on a stone bench perched just outside of a grand hedge maze in one of the extravagant gardens on the property, it gave them a full view of what they had just retreated from. At least it was a free show.

And he hated miracled bourbon, but damn if it did not taste amazing right now.

A breathy exhale to his right was Aziraphale finally coming up for air, which was only an excuse laid over the fact that she did not want to be greedy with the alcohol. Another deep breath and a small belch, and Crowley reached for the bottle without looking away from the flames.

“It smells atrocious.” Aziraphale huffed, her wiggling more sulk than joy.

“Could just miracle it away?”

“That’s not the point,” she replied back clipped and haughtily but did not allude to what her point was.

Crowley leaned back a bit to take the stress off his lower back. He should really stop slouching so much.

“Well,” he sucked his teeth, “at least _your_ mouth wasn’t open when the bloke exploded.” No amount of alcohol in the world could erase the phantom taste of _that_. He didn’t even want to think about it.

“No,” Aziraphale conceded at first, but countered quickly, “but it’s in my hair…and on my face, my dress, not entirely sure how it got _in_ my shoes—”

“I know, Angel. It’ll be gone soon enough.” He stopped to take the same size glug as his angel. “ _Just_ ,” he rasped over the burn in his throat, “gimme a second I’ll wipe it away.” Although his body had healed, the underlying soreness still needed a moment to fade before he felt right enough to perform another miracle. The bourbon was an emergency.

They watched the fire rage in the distance, smoke billowing possibly miles above them in the air to join the dark clouds above.

“Crowley…,” he waited quietly for the rest, “do you suppose Alphaeus…do you think he…?”

The good thing about being on the same wavelength with someone was already knowing what they were trying to ask, and without hearing the rest Crowley finished her sentence.

“Do I think he’s going to Hell? No, wouldn’t count on it.” He nodded, running his tongue along the grooves of his teeth thoughtfully. “His soul was so badly destroyed by the end of it, there’s nothing left for either of our sides to salvage.” He passed the bottle back to her, wincing apologetically for the slick slide of the bottle from one hand to the other knowing well it was not from the condensation buildup.

“May his secrets be buried with him in that eternal slumber.” Aziraphale tipped the bottle up to toast. The secrets, she mentioned, were the ones about them that Heaven and Hell would gratefully never know about.

Crowley listened to the angel’s soft gulps. They could drink from that bottle for years and there would still be plenty left for more if the miracle did its job.

“I do hope the children are alright.” Aziraphale bemoaned from a pinched face, looking down the mouth of the bottle at the liquor with judgement.

“M’sure they’re fine,” he shrugged one slumped shoulder, “probably still held up in the barn.”

“We should make our way there soon.”

Crowley continued staring ahead, watching but not seeing the destroyed castle only using it for a fixed point while his nose and mouth scrunched once at the thought of doing something that required moving and walking and being around that many frightened quivering humans, and he really was not in the mood for any of that.

“…yeah, s’pose we should. At some point.” Priorities, and all. Speaking of.

He stretched back and bowed his spine enjoying the much-needed pops. “Best check on the doctor, as well. I haven’t seen him since he took a blast to the chest—”

“Oh good, I heard my name. I no longer feel as though I’m eavesdropping.”

With only a minimal amount of surprise, Aziraphale and Crowley turned to see the man himself walking up to greet them with a still-wave of one raised hand. He looked tired, yet he also looked as happy to see them as they were to see him.

“Thaddeus!” Crowley’s chirp hit a high note at the last part of the doctor’s name. “Good to see you. Come to partake in the celebrations?” At some point he had taken the bottle of bourbon back from Aziraphale and used it to sweep a grand wave across the lawn to end over his and Aziraphale’s sad appearances.

The humor which defined the crow’s feet on either side of Copper’s hazel eyes lessoned as he finally processed what he was seeing with raised brows. His stride faltered a little.

Crowley was quick to clarify. “Don’t worry. It’s not ours.”

“Good.” A long nod brought some of the humor back in his face. “The smell had me a bit worried.”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a high-brow expression, head nodding as she mumbled, “see?” To which Crowley jerked his shoulders and scoffed indignantly, “who are you telling? In the mouth, remember?”

“So that’s it, then?” Their attention fell back on Copper as he asked. He stood beside them a foot from the bench and watched the burning castle. A hard look flashed across his eyes. “It’s over?”

Both angel and demon nodded in unison.

Copper hummed. “He’s dead, then?”

Another nod. Another hum. “And the monsters?”

“Yea—oh, forgot about them.” Crowley exchanged a quick glance to Aziraphale for confirmation and back to Copper. They both nodded again. “Yeah, yeah quite certain.”

The doctor sighed one equal to Crowley’s from earlier, emptying his lungs heavily and near enough to let his soul escape. It looked like a much needed one judging by the middle-aged man’s shoulders expanding at the release of coiled tension pent up for Satan-knew how long.

Watching it gave the demon a strange sense of clarity to their human ally’s mortality and distantly thought to ask the doctor if he was doing alright. Resilient man, this military doctor had braved new truths and startling discoveries all while maintaining a cool-tempered head.

Aziraphale, the clever little bastard, must have had the same sense of clarity and when it was her turn to sip from the bottle she instead switched hands to offer it up at the Copper, giving it a little shake in his line of sight until he noticed it with a slight start.

A mumble from behind his mustache sounded something like a _well if you’re offering_ before accepting it with a polite nod in thanks. He gave the foreign label a quick once-over and was already on gulp number three within seconds.

“Do not be sparing, good doctor. We certainly haven’t.” Aziraphale giggled good-naturedly at her own joke with tired and less-animated wiggles and clearly forgetting her sweet face was painted like a warrior fresh from battle, hair scandalously free with dark red and black splatters clumping her curly locks. “Though, not to interrupt, but are the children alright? How are the others?”

Crowley, through a poorly hidden snicker, counted exactly five more gulps before Copper pulled away for air and his satisfied sigh made even the demon feel refreshed. What was this? This tingling felt in every pore on his corporation. It invited butterflies into his stomach, tasted sweet like grapes. He wanted to laugh—no, _giggle_. He wanted to giggle.

He decided to let whatever it was soft-boil in the back of his mind for now, secretly enjoying it being there.

Copper’s eyes were warm behind his glasses. “Your lambs are no doubt slumbering away with the rest of the children at the neighboring estate. They showed up, not too long ago—unusual aftertaste in this bourbon,” he paused to squint over the lenses for a close up of the label before turning back to Aziraphale, “came through the woods, authorities in toe and bloodhounds scouring the property. They’ve been briefed of the situation….”

He paused to give Crowley a, “ngk,” _proud_ look.

“Took a chapter from your book. Gave them orders and told them so long as they don’t question I won’t have to take their Free Will from them, whatever that means, no matter what they see or hear. Worked like a charm.”

Sharp jittery twitches were the only thing Crowley could muster and prayed for a change of topic, both realizing and relishing in the fact he had an angel sitting right beside him who answered them immediately.

Her head bobbed back and forth between them as if she were watching a rigorous game of badminton. “Y-You started bossing around the local authorities the moment they arrived?” She sounded scandalized, and now she could see what it was about this human Crowley found a friend in.

Copper handled it impressively; giving her a sympathetic look, he reminded her politely. “These men are more seasoned for settling heated land disputes and stolen livestock, certainly not thick-skinned enough for grizzly murders.” He paused in afterthought. “People are saying an earthquake destroyed the castle. No one appears confident with their statements, so it will most likely be the one we’ll see in the paper.” One less thing to worry about was always a good thing.

Aziraphale had the audacity to blush. “Not one of my most proper moments, really.” The blood in her cheeks and the blood _on_ her cheeks was something altogether new and Crowley quickly dismissed the small jolt of thrill in his spine before he started hating himself.

Thankfully, Copper started talking as he handed the bourbon back to Aziraphale. “So, what does this mean for you both?” A second later he explained, “you should already know what _we_ will do after this,” he said we and he meant humans, “I’m curious to know the proceedings of your…respective natures?”

The man clearly was not prepared for the reaction he received; Aziraphale made a noise somewhere between a wounded animal and a cough, and Crowley let his growl loose with a head thrown back to catch on bony shoulders.

“ _Paperwork_.”

Their simultaneous wail earned them a high arched brow from Copper, sharp eyes switching from angel to demon. “…you both have to work?” His question was answered by a chorus of complaints.

“They’ll want _so much_ detail.” Crowley almost kicked his feet.

Aziraphale stared wide-eyed in horror of what she was seeing in her mind via a fixed point somewhere in the distance. “All those revisions…it will take _days_.”

“Dagon won’t even _read it all!_ Bloody procedure is just a sick kink for them.”

“Lord, I hope this doesn’t trigger an audit.” Aziraphale looked physically slapped as one hand went for her chest and the other grabbing onto the bench to catch her backwards lean.

Crowley had the audacity to attempt a temptation just then. He slid closer to her. “Say, we could always toss to see who—”

It failed as soon as it started. “Don’t even try to imply such a thing.” She leered back, her pout challenging. “I’m not writing _both_ of those enormous reports.”

He slid back in defeat. Clever bastard.

Copper gave them a strangely troubled expression. His barstool mustache twitched. “Not sure how I feel watching you both react this way toward the responsibilities of life after death. An oddly familiar sentiment.”

The doctor swiftly changed topics. “Perhaps it’s not all bad. No story like this one to cause a stirrup, right? You’ll be the talk of the…,” he waved a hand in the air, “I’m sure it will turn heads. After you clean yourselves up, of course. The smell alone will certainly attract attention.”

Crowley did like a bigger soapbox. A fib here and there, turn of phrase, he’d take credit for Aziraphale’s brilliance and in vice versa because they made sure to add that clause to the arrangement. The look on Hastur’s face would be weighed by the amount of effort put into his report and that was just the kind of motivation he needed to start brainstorming.

Chiming bells rang in his ear and oh, it was just Aziraphale trying and failing to hide cute chuckles behind her hand. Whatever was so funny shook her shoulders, squeezed her eyes, and it made Crowley a little jealous.

He crossed his arms and glared. “Seem rather excited over there. Y’sure you don’t want to write mine too?”

She took her time with replying, letting the chuckles subside first so she could sigh happily and relaxed. It was a good look on her.

“Apologies, dear boy. Could not help myself. I had the silliest thought just now, went a bit out there for it.” When he nodded, she caught the unspoken request to share and needed a few bashful shakes of her head and dismissive giggles before buckling under her own pressure to continue.

“Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we both delivered this marvelously written report, perfectly revised and punctuated to standard, while strolling into our individual headquarters looking just like this.” By the end of it Aziraphale was near bursting with laughter. “Could you _imagine_ the looks on their faces? How scandalous!”

It was a funny thought, and Crowley couldn’t help his bark of laughter. The doctor appeared more curious than humored.

Very funny, mischievous too. Something he would have come up with, certainly not his prim and proper angel and that thrilled him. Not only was it mischievous, it was a good idea. A great idea. Flashy, oh it was definitely flashy. And daring. Stylish. It was….

Crowley’s brain caught up to his body, which had been slowly turning as he chewed on the idea. He immediately noticed Aziraphale was doing the same and was looking at him with a deviant twinkle in her blue eyes which he was no doubt reflecting back to her with the same intensity.

When his brow arched, her eyes narrowed speculatively. When he grinned large and fanged, she pursed her full lips into an impish smile.

“Dear boy, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Aziraphale beat him to it.

Crowley did that crawly thing with his body when he wanted to sit up straight but wiggled too much in excitement to do it properly.

“Oh Angel, I really hope I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long, Alphaeus. You were fun as hell to write but you were a magnum jackass.
> 
> These two are ridiculous, and I hope the fluff and laughs hit the spot after all the angst. Next chapter we'll see some well deserved come-uppings for giving our angel and demon such shitty assignments!
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't had the chance to respond to your wonderful reviews from last chapter! It has been one hectic (more than usual) week haha. Like wow, never been so busy! But I did manage to use all my pent up stress as energy to get this chapter out, because since I started this story I have been so excited to share this part~!
> 
> Thank you everyone for all of your love and support :) I hope this answers a few questions from the beginning chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none really, other than a-hole bosses and typos. Sorry if any of the characters appear OOC; a little of that is intentional and other than that this is my first time writing these characters so I hope I did a good job haha~ Enjoy!

Crowley heard the buzzing before he saw the sluggish mass of demons surrounding him part like a halfhearted sea under the flickering poorly lit lights above. His soapbox would not be complete without the interest of a large swarming crowd, however there were specific members he was holding out for and the approaching buzz spread an excited smirk across his face.

“I _szzaid_ move it. Are you deaf as well as blind?”

Oh, this was going to be great.

Finally, the five-foot terror emerged from the crowd to the front, dead eyes immediately finding Crowley and fixing him with a stare comprised of various emotions ranging from curiosity to agitation.

“Lord Beelzebub!” Crowley greeted, the sweet saccharine tone nearly causing physical harm with the way Beelzebub twitched back at it. Flanked on either side were the stern expressions of Dagon, Hastur, and Ligur, and they made such a wonderfully dreary sight that Crowley could not help but bow. The wet splatter of whatever still stuck to his clothing hitting the slimy ground punctuated the bow perfectly.

“An honor, as always, that you took time out of your busy schedule, my Dark Prince—”

“ _Szave_ it.” Beelzebub crushed the pleasantry with a quick curl of their boiled lip. Their eyes looked him up and down twice, now more curious than agitated.

“You look decorated,” Beelzebub eyed the grotesque stains and remains covering the serpent, “is there a holiday I have forgotten?” They turned to exchange dubious glances at Dagon, then to Hastur, and scanned the area of crowded demons for confirmation.

Crowley waved a respectful hand out. “No holiday, my Dark Lord, merely me carrying out your demonic whims as you entrusted me to do so.” The fixed stare was back, and he had to force down the knowing grin to keep from giving himself away too soon. Oh, he knew _that_ look; Beelzebub preferred it when they were the first to know something, positively despised it when they were the last to know.

“What demonic whim _zzz_?” The question was guarded, and judging by the way Hastur’s eyes twitched this was going to be an exceptionally good show. “I approved your ex _z_ tended time off for the last job.”

Crowley feigned ignorance like a performing artist. “Oh…well, my Prince, do you not recall the _other_ assignment?”

Beelzebub twitched an eyebrow. The swarm of flies hovering above began to move faster, more erratically. He didn’t miss the way Dagon threw a curious look to the back of their Dark Lord’s head.

“What _other_ a _zz_ ignment?” Any other occasion Crowley would be inching back at the bite in their tone, but he was just the messenger this time.

He leaned casually back and eyed his superior. “Lord Beelzebub allow me to elaborate. You have much on your plate as it is. I would not want you to spare a moment longer—”

“Spare me your s _z_ ucking up, instead.”

Fair enough. Crowley nodded respectfully. “Yes, my Lord. When Hastur delivered the assignment saying it was from you _personally_ , I was honored to take on the task. But, documenting and reporting just seemed too…easy. So, I took it upon myself to launch a full investigation—on your behalf, of course—regarding the disappearances of an entire platoon of demons. You will be happy to know it has all been recorded and compiled into an incredibly detailed report. Highlighted _and_ labeled—”

At the mere mention of an _organized_ report, a chorus of revolted hisses erupted around them.

“—that’s right,” Crowley nodded smugly at the crowd, “and as I was just explaining to our fellow brethren, it wasn’t easy—”

When Beelzebub blinked, he knew to shut up immediately. The swarm of flies buzzed loud enough to drown out the commotion around them, it's swarm dampening the already sickly glow of light in the room.

“Dis _zz_ appearences?” They took a step forward. “Of an entire _platoon_?”

Hastur went rigid, chewing on what was probably his rotten tongue to stave off the growing worry. He looked like an overstuffed bag about to pop, and it was a lovely sight. Even Ligur flickered his green-blending-orange eyes to Hastur when he too must have noticed the frozen state of his partner.

“Mm…thirty or so? I forget the exact number. It’s all in the report.” Crowley added helpfully.

Dagon stepped back when the Prince’s dutiful insects expanded out. Beelzebub stood straight, staring ahead but not seeing. He knew they were scouring subconscious files concerning a matter of disappearing demons. He also already knew they would not find it, because they were never told of such a matter and it would only be a matter of minutes before Beelzebub realized this.

And just as he stated earlier, Beelzebub _despised_ being the last to know of something, _despised_ having an audience of underlings present to see it.

The longer the silence stretched, the more concerning it was for every demon within the vicinity of the short Prince’s rage. Surprisingly, the mood in the air shifted as a daring glint hit his superior’s ice-blue stare. Having the same boss for thousands of years, it was no surprise the serpent could already guess what came next.

“Present the report!” Dagon commanded far louder than necessary in a room so small, wanting everyone to know how proud she was at knowing just how to be the perfect ass-kisser.

Crowley grinned. _Too easy._ “Gladly.” Without turning around, he threw an open hand out to a random bunch of lurking demons, “viewing is over, fellas. Let’s have it,” and it took some shuffling from the crowd and two twitches of his fingers before a thick three-ringed binder landed heavy in his wide palm. Luckily, he had remembered to dawn a pair of shaded glasses, and while he outwardly appeared to stare at one fixed point his yellow eyes had taken the opportunity to scan each face from left to right.

Dagon: cautiously intrigued. Beelzebub: seething indignation. Ligur: confused and bored. Hastur: rightfully scared and mouthing something probably a very hostile threat of some sort but it was too late for bartering.

“As you can see,” Crowley leaned the binder against his chest and cupped two hands underneath it in emphasis of its size and bulk, “labeled, highlighted, filed in chronological order with time-stamps on each log.”

As if he were showing a rare treasure to hungry buyers, he rotated his hips side to side so everyone could get a good eyeful of the monster. It was met with gasps and hisses, and even Beelzebub paled a little in disgust despite the challenge in their stare.

The next bout of silence was an awkward one. Eyes began flickering around wondering who was supposed to be doing what and why not. Dagon suddenly snapped an arm to the side somewhere in the crowd and reeled in a random demon squirming in her talons. The underling was on its knees with the flat of it’s back offered to Beelzebub within seconds. Crowley swallowed, too glad to not be the poor sucker being used as furniture in front of him.

As expected of him, Crowley laid the binder on top of the kneeling demon’s back and only moved away with a low bow until it was evenly balanced on bony shoulder-blades.

Beelzebub looked from the binder to Crowley exactly three times, and the room went completely still the instant their dark lord’s hand opened the hardcover. He was given fleeting glances between the turn of each page looking for what Crowley would never know.

Being in a small room with a hoard of demons exceeding capacity, there was always one among the mass who was too well-natured to sit still for long and found the stretch of silence too agonizing to continue.

That said _always one_ blurted out, “Crawly killed a Demon Eater!” The following eruption of cheers and flailing limbs was delightfully raucous for the serpent; not only were they for him, but his superiors watched in shock at the reaction his story gained from the crowd around them.

Crowley was owning this moment. His long arms waved outward to calm their cheers with a false-modest expression, and if his hands were supposed to wave _down_ to calm crowds but waved _up_ instead making them cheer a little louder, well, he would chalk it up to a learning experience.

“Now, now, flattery won't get you anywhere.” _It will_ , he mouthed to them after.

One look from Beelzebub had him crossing his hands in front of himself, completely subdued as the cheering withered into uncomfortable coughing. The Dark Prince blinked back down at the information.

Dagon blurted out, “I was not aware something like that existed.”

“Me either.” Ligur agreed, and unlike Dagon’s alarmed expression his appeared bright and interested. It took more than the rest to catch Ligur’s interest, and Crowley would count it as a win in his book.

“Er, yes.” Hastur finally coughed up, only to stall horribly on the rest. “Wh-ah, you, where d’you—how would that be possible?” His eyes held nothing close to curious and every bit of pent up rage. For just a moment it felt as though Crowley and Hastur were having a very private conversation via facial expression.

_Don’t you fuckin dare, Crawly._

_Nice knowing you, Hastur._

Crowley opened his mouth to answer and was pleasantly surprised to hear Beelzebub beat him to it.

“Failed soul trans _z_ actions.” The room went silent again, including the flies though it defied physics to see them still shooting around soundlessly with the same frenzy. Dagon leaned infinitesimally closer over her officer’s shoulder to sneak a peek at the information, the edges of razor teeth poking out from behind her lips. It seemed the Lord of the Files would have a fun-filled rest of the afternoon with this one.

He counted the seconds in his head. _Three…two…._

“Failed s _zzzzz_ oul tran _zzz_ actions?” It was not a question. “Thirty-four failed to bind a contract with… _one_ _human_.” The more pages turned, the bigger their eyes got and the more disgusted fury he could see. Pupils multiplied in their feast for more information, near insect in their own right before a deep exhale brought them back to one.

It was time to plant some seeds. He took the chance to throw out, “we did earn quite a few damned souls. Enough for a new platoon? Perhaps a different…trainer for the beginners this time?”

“Who trained the onez that perished?” Beelzebub tilted their head thoughtfully despite the venomous bite in their tone. Everyone in the room knew there was only so much time to answer their lord’s question, yet the ones that did not know looked to the ones that were assumed to know in repeat.

Crowley opened his mouth to answer and was pleasantly surprised to hear Dagon beat him to it.

“Hastur.” The tattle-telling weasel, Crowley would have hugged her for it if it weren’t for how awful that sounded. Ratting on their own would get her a commendation as well as meet quota.

Hastur whipped his black eyes on Dagon over their lord’s shoulder and shot her with a scathing glare that was meant for Crowley only seconds prior. Technically, he didn’t rat anyone out. So, technically, retaliation would be harder for Hastur to get away with, if he got out of his punishment alive that was.

And that all depended on if Beelzebub had lunch before this, and the simple fact that Crowley managed to squeeze in this abrupt meeting just before would win him the achievement of Most Impeccable Timing in the game he and Aziraphale came up with ages ago.

That was all it took for Beelzebub to no longer acknowledge Crowley’s presence and end their meeting; the slow turn of their head was a horror only found in the bowels of Hell. Ligur made like a chameleon and camouflaged into the mass of faceless lower level demons and out of the line of danger that was Beelzebub’s wrath, leaving Hastur as the lone target.

Crowley would not stay for the rest in respect for wounded prides but would not forget the most important question here. He held a long finger up.

“Ah, would I be able to request an extension to my extended time off?”

By now, his existence was not something Beelzebub was aware of nor cared about. If anyone needed anything approved, these moments were the ideal time to ask.

Dagon, just like all of them, were so accustomed to these moments and habits always made the final call well knowing it would be one less idiot to deal with.

“Request approved. I will have it filed with the report. As you were.”

Crowley was already in mid-saunter toward the exit by the time Dagon finished talking. He had to get out of here before they saw him cartwheel from excitement. He was proud of his victory dance and would save it for later perhaps some time before his date at the theater with Aziraphale tonight. Nevermind taking a carriage to the bookshop, he could walk and use the time to dance it out of his system.

The angel always asked about his victory dances, now he would have something to talk about.

-:-

There was something amusing in watching angels excuse themselves through a crowd, and Aziraphale never understood how anyone got anywhere in Heaven during traffic jams.

It was the most passive-aggressive litany of awkward excuses and featherlight touches because no one tried to be rude or fussy with each other. Condescending, yes. Patronizing, sometimes. But everyone meant well, and it was beneath an angel to push or shove unless proven justified to win a moral argument.

Some angels from certain hierarchies did not appear to be beneath the rule, in fact believed they were so above it that others needed to simply overlook their actions for the greater good.

Some angels. Archangels. Gabriel, for example.

Aziraphale watched his perfect hair glide above and through the crowd of chattering angels surrounding her before she saw him, his height an advantage in the way his presence moved people around him like water, laying upon the gathered masses a blanket of sugar-coated excuses and implied threats.

“Pardon me, there. Coming through, haha, no one likes to get stepped on!” As sweet as his laugh was, the bite behind it was sharp and irritated.

When the last angel in his path proved harder to budge past, too absorbed in a conversation to their right, it also proved much too irritating for Gabriel to put up with. His thick shoulder to their neck was clearly intentional and impressively hidden behind a false apology.

“Almost didn’t see you there, Orfiel! I would have sworn you heard me coming.” The last words spoken through clenched perfect teeth.

Aziraphale pretended to be invested in a conversation with two angels from a careful distance of her smell—her appearance, catching the arrival of her superior out of the corner of her eye and finally turned in mock surprise to see Gabriel standing at the front of the circle, Michael and Uriel on his left and Sandalphon on his right. The way all four of them took a simultaneous step back was impressive choreography.

With a welcoming smile she waited patiently for their evident shock to fade all the scrunched faces, wide eyes, and mild disgust. She couldn’t help but be a little entertained by it.

“Gabriel! There you are,” Aziraphale opened her blood and ichor stained arms out and open in greeting, reveling in the way the archangels leaned back at her gesture, and folded her arms politely in front of her ruined dress. “Thank you for accepting my meeting on such short notice.”

Gabriel opened his mouth, and it was a full two seconds before noise came sputtering out. “Aziraphale. Wh-ah, I mean yes, no trouble at all. I was…a little,” his glowing eyes scanned her from head to toe and back up, “surprised to hear from you so soon.”

“Very punctual.” Uriel tried to voice through a hand over her nose. Uriel was never one for strange smells.

“Ah, yes well. Much to do, little time to do so! I wanted to ensure my report was turned in with haste!” Aziraphale smiled bright and toothy, knowing more than she let on that the stark contrast of dark red and inky black stains against her pale complexion made for quite a horrifying expression. Not a single strand of blood-clotted hair was tied back, not a single stain wiped, not a single wrinkle straightened.

She looked like something that crawled out of the pits of Hell and made sure she stayed that way.

“Aziraphale,” Michael’s polite and prim voice called out, her lip curled and stuck that way as she spoke, “your busy schedule does not allow you to…to clean up a bit—?”

“Hm?” Crowley would be proud of her acting skills. In mock confusion, she looked down at herself and back up to Michael with wide eyes. “Oh!” She laughed loud with shaking shoulders. “Of course! Yes, dear me, I must look like quite a spectacle!” To subside her exaggerated laughter, she brought the back of her stained hand up to hover over her mouth, eliciting a few cringy recoils from the archangels.

“So caught up in carrying out The Almighty’s wishes, I had forgotten to make myself presentable. Thank you, Michael. I will be sure to tidy up before I leave.” She knew it was not what Michael had meant, but she did not care.

“And…I’m sure you carried out God’s Divine Will…,” Gabriel lost his train of thought, which was very uncharacteristic of him, “I don’t have a copy of the assignment with me, however, I was under the impression your task involved overseeing a human family…?”

When Aziraphale opened her mouth in reply, she was pleasantly surprised to hear one of the angels from the crowd beat her to it.

“Aziraphale smote forty demons!”

She turned to see the angel, Angiola if she remembered correctly, looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder to the archangels with eyes large and excited as she held an enormous binder of documents in her arms while other curious angels standing on her left and right leafed through the pages with similar expressions.

Beaming bashfully, Aziraphale threw a modest look to the angel before turning back to her superiors. “Well, thirty-four demons to be exact. She may be counting the corrupt human souls I exorcised. Splitting hairs.” She waved it off as if it were nothing.

“Thir-Thirty-four?” Gabriel squeaked. Gabriel never squeaked. He was too perfect to do such a thing.

The next angel to interrupt was Vangelis, she knew that baritone shout without turning to see who it was. “Don’t be so modest, Aziraphale! This report is…it’s _amazing_!”

“I’ve never read anything like this before!” Another angel joined in from somewhere in the crowd.

“Possessed humans trapped in a castle? My hair is standing up! This is so exciting!”

“Who knew a human could eat so many demon hearts?!”

Even Sandalphon paled at that comment, exchanging an alarmed look to Michael over Gabriel’s broad shoulders.

“But that didn’t stop Aziraphale from turning him into salt! Right, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale didn’t have time to answer as the crowd became more and more riled up, the binder now in multiple hands tugging and pulling for a chance to read.

“Metatron needs to see this!”

At the mention of _higher_ higher ups, Gabriel sprang into action; hands waved in front of him like he had no idea what to do with them, and a very odd grin was plastered on his perfect face. In a grand intrusion of loud chuckles and thick spiritual pressure, he strode toward the angels tugging the binder with open palms.

Gabriel knew his strength, and if he argued otherwise Aziraphale never knew him to be that bad of a liar. And with an angel clenched in each arm, their similar pained expressions were lost to the archangel’s hulking presence descending on the group.

“Haha-okay, well that sounds like some report!” His smile was genuine and yet extremely artificial, eyes loving and yet they were not as they roamed over the others who fell quiet under the intensity of his stare. The air in the room became heavy and Aziraphale felt it in her chest. She may have been the only one here who could bare the weight of Gabriel’s attention, only because breathing exercises was something she picked up on Earth, never in Heaven, and perhaps she would one day offer to teach a few of her brothers and sisters who, at this moment, looked as though they sorely needed it.

“I’m sure everyone will have a chance to read it. For now, let’s all lead by our brother’s example; busying ourselves with God’s divine requests by _getting back to work_.”

The crowd turned into a traffic jam just then, and angels of all shapes and colors bumped into each other to shuffle in every direction that was not here. A few clever angels, including Angiola and Vangelis, stopped to give Aziraphale a parting smile and wink, one of them reaching for a pat on the shoulder only to grimace back at the mess she was covered in and deciding to nod instead.

Gabriel released the angels in his _tender_ hands not before reaching over and around to pluck the giant binder none-too gently from one of the scrambling angels before they could carry it off too far. A poorly hidden glare turned into a squinting scowl as the archangel began leafing through random parts of the report. The poor thing, Aziraphale nearly cooed, he still had yet to understand how books worked.

She tampered those facetious musings down and quickly blamed her unholy thoughts on all the time spent being around Crowley. He always brought out the worst in her. It was more than likely her fault for never complaining about it, though.

Synchronized and punctual as expected, Michael stood a foot to the side and a foot back from Gabriel with Uriel standing exactly a foot from Michael and a foot from Sandalphon who stood portly and proper at the end. All four turned inward to give Aziraphale their full attention, hands either clasped together in front or behind them. It was clean, just like everything else in Heaven.

She was accustomed to their stares and the stale quiet that always settled over them, and thoughts of her brave demon swaggering into Hell coated in the blood of his enemy and commanding the attention of his superiors would keep her going no matter how many sharp eyes bore into her.

But she would not bow, not now, and the reactions on each of their faces, save Gabriel who all but had his nose inside the binder, caused a surge of confidence right up the blond angel’s spine to straighten her shoulders, tipping her chin up for good measure.

In a pocket inside Aziraphale’s heart next to the one which held Crowley’s most treasured smiles, was a space reserved for the collection of her superior’s shocked expressions whenever she stood up for herself. This would be a lovely addition to that collection.

To sprinkle sugar over her sweet victory, Gabriel finally resurfaced from the report to gaze around as if he had just stepped into a new room, soon flickering his eyes from the binder to Aziraphale several times while admitting, “Aziraphale, this is…,” the awe was woven deep in his tone, “ _very_ impressive work.”

 _You’re damn right it is_. “Well, I’m very pleased to know you think so.” A courteous nod and nervous giggle out of sheer habit saved her from rolling her eyes, but she could feel the genuine truth behind those words. She was not the only one who noticed; Michael, as nosy as ever, had broken the perfect foot-difference in the row at some point and was tilting only slightly to read over Gabriel’s shoulder.

Sandalphon did that weird thing with his chin, and whenever he tried to appear a fraction friendlier, she always forgot about the chill in her spine when he fixed her with that distinct gold speckled grin.

Gabriel spoke up again. “Of course, it will need to go through the proper channels for review so if there’s anything left out the appropriate departments will reach you. But…,” his hot air from tongue-wagging age-old procedures deflated quicker than it usually did, “nevertheless, from what I have read you did everything that was asked of you. I’m impressed.”

If Aziraphale was not in her Heavenly Mother’s home, she would have let out a hiss that could make her demon proud. She couldn’t stop the hot flush on her cheeks, but she could keep down the urge to curl her lip and that would do for now.

 _They didn’t think I could do it._ It burned until it froze in her blood. It tasted bitter, but she immediately reminded herself that this was a sad truth _before_ she carried herself up here demanding a meeting with them, presenting an extensive and thoroughly detailed report to an eager crowd of fellow angels and putting those shocked expressions on their holier-than-thou faces—

“Aziraphale, are you alright?” She had to force herself to meet Uriel’s eyes, surprisingly as concerned as she was curious which was a rarity. “You’re pink.”

“The climate is quite different on Earth. A bit cooler down there.” She reassured sweetly through a tight lipped smile.

Realizing how long she had been up here, Aziraphale perked herself back up with a bounce of her heels and swung her hands back to front. “Ah, look at the time. I best get back to Earth. Not a good idea to stray too long after dark—”

“—what happens after dark?” Sandalphon blinked.

“—it’s all in the report, dear. Start with the blue tab and work your way from there. Now,” she sighed to slow herself down, “I’m off to work on the second volume of the report—”

“Second volume?” Gabriel’s mouth did not close after the question. She wanted to shut it for him, but quickly dismissed the temptation.

“Yes! Did you think that was all of it?” The question was rhetorical. “Though, I shan’t blame you, the assignment was rather vague about what to do with the family after my months with them. It left me guessing just who in this family I was sworn to – er, that was until both Charles and Charlotte Windsor met their end rather gruesomely, so now I must continue on with the Windsor children until The Almighty’s ineffable plan carries me on to the morrow.”

She was only being half dramatic, but it was all technically true; there was still the matter of what to do with Charlie and Maurielle and she would be damned before she disappeared now when her precious lambs would go home without their parents. The least she could do was spend a few extra months tweaking their paths in all the right directions. To put it simply, she missed them.

When she took a step back it drew a small attempt to speak from Michael, but she stopped just short of opening her mouth to subdue whatever it was she never said. Gabriel shifted the binder to one strong hand and lifted the other up to raise an index finger.

Aziraphale pretended not to see it. “If there’s nothing further you need from me, I will take my leave now. Lots of streams to cross, some raging rivers. Never enough mountains to move! I’m sure I don’t have to tell you all that.” She wasn’t particularly worried if anyone caught the underlying messages hidden in her featherlight voice. Time was of the essence, and a night at the theater with her tall dark and demon was calling her.

The balm of her heel was already swiveling around before their heads shook in synchrony, all but Gabriel who looked at her as if he were seeing Aziraphale for the first time. The Principality did not want to linger on that thought any longer than she already had and secretly hastened her walk toward the exit.

Finally! Soon there would be no clots of disgusting matter in her hair, instead a luxurious twin pair of gold barrettes to bring out the blond in what would be an intricately braided bun. More or less shoulder was a good question she would have to revisit in front of the mirror. Or, she could also pick out a dashing evening suit and surprise Crowley in her male body? Hopefully, she would have time to evaluate each option—

“Aziraphale?”

Too shocked to be annoyed, Aziraphale slowed to a stop and turned around just in time to see Gabriel slow-jogging toward her. Fortunately for both of them they would not have to wait for the archangel to cross the distance and after a small ripple of harpy strings his broad body was standing right over her.

The whole exchange was awkward, however relieved the angel was to see the close proximity of her boss was unintentional as he took one long step back and brought his entire body with it as fast as he could.

He cupped his nose with one palm, eyes nearly watering. “Lord, that smells awful.”

“Very much so, I agree.”

He stood there for far longer than necessary, and the way he stalled could put a carriage drawn by intoxicated horses to shame.

After too long, Aziraphale sighed. “Gabriel, did you need somethi—?”

“I just want to say,” he hurried like it was a competition, again confused at what to do with his hands, “when you mentioned that part about the vague assignment, it reminded me of…well,” he paused again which was very unlike Gabriel to not have the right words or know what to say. She was not sure whether to be guarded or worried.

“Aziraphale,” he cleared his throat, starting over in a more firm managerial tone, “when we receive assignments, what we do to see the task through is knowledge only The Almighty has, though what we will know will come of it or it’s intentions are usually noted in the assignments to give us an understanding of what the greater good our hard work will bring….”

At first Aziraphale nodded along, yet by the end of his long-winded explanation she could not help but tilt her head and give her superior a confused look. Finally, she held a quiet hand up to stop him.

“Gabriel?” He finally shut up long enough to match her confused expression. “I don’t mean to interrupt, however…I am already aware of this. Unless something has changed, this has been the same procedures since….” Forever.

“Right. Of course!” He clapped his big hands together, and it echoed in the empty white space around them. He smiled and shook his head with a, dare she say it, _nervous_ chuckle. “Why _am_ I explaining this to you? Of course, you know! So…well, the reason is.”

And all at once it finally dawned on Aziraphale the reason behind her superior’s strange behavior.

He was guilty. Not only guilty, but he was regretful of something that happened as a result of something he may or may not have done. Angels were supposed to be perfect—supposed to be—and no one was more perfect than the Archangel Gabriel.

A flustered sigh brought her back to present, watching quietly as Gabriel opened his wide hand and two pristine documents materialized in his palm. He hesitated for a few seconds before extending it toward her to take with slow cautious movements.

She broke her stare from Gabriel to scan over the information, reading familiar names and events.

Her eyes lit up. “These are….”

Gabriel hurried to explain, “shortly after you left, I found these on my desk. Bumbling colleagues from our distribution teams must have left these out of the file in…,” he made a pained face, like it physically hurt him to say the next words, “in error.” He swallowed down the offensive taste to continue with a small wave toward the documents. “No surprise that the assignment was vague, it…it was not supposed to be.”

An unfamiliar relief washed over Aziraphale’s frayed nerves suddenly as an epiphany overcame her; perhaps it was not that the archangels believed she was capable or competent enough to complete the task, moreover…they were surprised to see she was more than capable _and_ competent of completing her task while flying half-blind.

Oh. Well, she would still remain cross with them for doubting her abilities, but it was a pleasant feeling to know she had proven herself more than capable _and_ competent without even trying.

But errors were errors, and while hers were never overlooked and barely forgiven, she would make sure to return the sentiment.

Blue eyes narrowed, becoming gray steel, and fixed her boss with a challenging look that thinned his lips. When she spoke, it was low and whispered. “These are the last documents in my assignment, for-for what my time and efforts are supposed to procure.” They were the end results, what she was supposed to accomplish, and _very_ vital information. “And they were sitting on your desk this entire time?” To Hell with politeness.

Gabriel did not correct her for daring to speak to him like she was _his_ boss, and the fish-out-of-water reaction was a good look on him.

“End of the century is always the busiest times for us, as you know. There were…scheduled attempts to deliver these to you, and well…you showed up so quickly with everything so impressively done that we-it became buried under other files.”

There it was; the admission of fault. He would have saved himself the drawn-out humiliation had he of just started with that, but then again if he did Aziraphale would not have had the pleasure of watching the proud and perfect Gabriel sputter and wring his hands nervously. Pros and cons, she supposed.

She ended her piercing stare to finally blink down at the details of the documents. Fortunately for her boss, what she read quickly replaced the growing righteous fury with a surge of heartwarming love and happiness to such an extent her eyes burned with the oncoming flux of tears.

She was right all along, maybe not at first, but she found it out all on her own. God had not sent her to the Windsor family to tut and dote over Charles and Charlotte. Her wonderful Mother had requested her to see over those tiny beautiful souls, her little Charlie and Maurielle.

Not only did they confirm the intentions of her assignment, they included references as to _why_ God had her all-knowing eyes on these two and placed the responsibility in the hands of no one more qualified for this than a true Principality.

Reading words such as _royalty_ and _prosperity_ and _success_ accompanied sentences such as _bring greatness to the country_ and _an inspiration for generations to come_ brought new overwhelming waves of affection and pride in her chest, heavier even than the weight of her breasts.

They were going to be okay. No, not just okay, those children would be leagues greater than great despite the horrors they had seen and the nightmares they had been through. Her sweet, resilient, strong baby lambs would grow to become a force the world would need one day.

“Gabriel?” Aziraphale raised her eyes up to meet the glowing purple irises watching her intently, perhaps waiting for a justified scolding, a threat to submit a formal complaint, or anything remotely able to trigger further damage control.

But she gave him none of those, and through the purest most warmhearted smile she could give beyond the strain to hold back a sob, Aziraphale only whispered one thing.

“Thank you.”

It was his turn to look at her with wide bright eyes, stunned by whatever he saw on her face or heard in her voice before an entirely new expression settled swiftly over his perfect features.

Remorse? Sympathy? It was impossible to tell, because Gabriel never looked at her like this and she had no prior experience of it.

“Aziraphale,” his tone was a perfect mirror of that expression. He straightened his broad shoulders and hung his arms down at his sides, eyes half-lidded and gentle. “You went above and beyond for this assignment. There were certain…expectations set for you – which of course is why you look like,” again with the confused hand waves, “and – I’m not keen on matters relating to humans and their enjoyment of flesh bodies – I digress. Aziraphale, I did not realize until later what this assignment asked of you, and for that….”

Aziraphale could not help but lean only a fraction closer in speechless awe when it appeared her big perfect boss was about to _apologize_ , and was not surprised to hear it come out veiled behind carefully worded phrasing, his shoulders dropping with the sigh that carried it out of his mouth.

“…good job, Aziraphale. I have no doubt The Almighty is beyond pleased with your work.”

If that were true, then The Almighty also had no qualms with her falling into bed with a demon. Twice. Who was she fooling, it was more around four and that was just the first time. Just wait until tonight.

But Gabriel did not need to know that.

“A metal!” He belted, nearly startling her. His broad body twitched with excitement at the offer.

She did not return the excitement. “Oh, that sounds lovely, but I will pass.”

“Right, right.” No one ever turned down a metal, but Gabriel did not appear bothered. “You already have one. A trophy, then?” His hands, for the umpteenth time, were a little lost in translation between them.

“No. I already have one or two.” She lied.

“Haha, of course you do.” He wagged a knowing finger at her before reaching up to scratch his perfect chin. “There must be something you would like for all of your hard work?”

Well…if he was offering. Her smile spread. “Well, I have been working _round the clock_ , literally, since given this job. Some time off would be nice.” Maybe there was something to this female body she could use to her advantage, this being the first time she had ever been this gender only knew of tricks Crowley had told her in passing from his experiences. Why not give it a shot?

Head bowing, her eyes peered up through her thick lashes and batted them sweetly. If the color in her eyes were more _baby-blue_ than normal or her cheeks more pouty than usual, she would never have known.

“Time off…with paid celestial wages?”

It was then she realized the _feminine charm_ Crowley prattled on and on about may not have been so effective when her face, and entire body, was covered in the grotesque remains of their adversary – unless one was into that – but highly doubted Gabriel was. Even still, it worked just enough that the archangel’s pinched frown of _don’t count on it_ turned into a, “…time off, I will approve. Paid time…we’ll see.”

 _Yes!_ She wanted to jump, punch the air, and frolic off to her date.

But she was still on the clock and remembered to maintain a levelheaded sense of professionalism. So, she bowed respectfully instead.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

She would save her celebrations for the stroll back to her bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, I couldn't do it. I wanted to write Asshole Archangel Gabriel, but...him being an angel, I wanted to explore something with his character only very minutely showed in the tv adaptation. Yes, he's an ego-bloated insensitive ass, but I thought it would be nice to see him show a nicer side to Aziraphale (only because I love Azi<333)
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed it! Let me know what you think in the comments, I always enjoy reading them :3 next chapter we'll have some much needed naughty fluff, as well as some other unanswered questions ;)


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for waiting so patiently with my crazy schedule! All of your comments have been so supportive, I've read them all hundreds of times and it just makes my day everytime <3 <3 I ended up writing too much and had to extend another chapter to the story. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: that sweet sweet buildup hehe. Fluff, lots of fluff. And Crowley being a lovesick oddball <3 and probably typos

Once the story hit the front page of every popular newspaper, the country had been obsessed with it for days. The headlines were gripping, and the content which followed enraptured minds. Every street corner buzzed with the newest developments.

“Mass cases of hysteria…experts conclusively determined the source derived from airborne spores bred in the dank conditions of the dungeons below the castle which were undergoing renovations at the time.” Aziraphale paused to sip from her champagne flute, her eyes peering over reading glasses she did not need in pinched concentration.

She let out a crisp sigh at the carbonation before continuing to read aloud from the newspaper spread over her side of the table. “Stagnant air from poor ventilation and the season’s extreme temperature fluctuations served as the perfect breeding ground for a rare type of fungi which released the spores after being disturbed by the renovations.”

“That’s certainly a clever take on it.” Crowley smirked over the mouth of his twin champagne flute, shaking his head as he added, “humans can be so creative. Makes our jobs a lot easier.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale agreed absentmindedly. “That clever doctor friend of ours may have had something do with it.” She paused again to glance over at Crowley across the table of succulent snacks and sweets. “How is the good doctor? Have you heard from him?”

He nodded. “He’s fine. Last time we spoke he was boarding a train back home.” As an afternote he added, “gotta swing by his clinic for an appointment in eight-nine months though.”

Aziraphale tilted her head. “Whatever for, my dear?”

Crowley shrugged the shoulder straddling the back of his chair, his head leaning into it as he answered. “No idea.”

“Well,” Aziraphale set her champagne down to smoothen a hand over the newspaper she went back to reading, “do give him my best regards when you see him next and—oh, _good Lord_.”

Crowley knew _that_ tone and glanced over the rim of his dark lenses to give the angel a quirked brow. Before he could inquire, he was presented with a folded portion of the newspaper now inches from his face and blocking the view of her intolerant expression.

Long fingers plucked them from her hand and flapped it straight to get a closer look at the article. “I’ll be blessed,” he clicked his forked tongue against his teeth and shook his head, “hah, _Midnight Crawlers_ , that’s what they went with, then? Pfft,” he tossed the paper back on the empty space on the table next to the plate of sample cheese and cream spreads, “not my first choice, but I’m sure that lad – wha’sis name, Jim or – whatever, looks like he got his wish.”

Crowley had his other arm planted on the table at the point of his elbow which supported his head with a hand cupping his chin, fingers tapping against the bony angle of his jaw in lazy beats. Whether out of boredom or impatience, he was not certain, but what he was certain of was that Aziraphale was not eating enough of the appetizers he had ordered for them.

“Angel,” he suddenly whined, and the hand holding his head up fell away to softly slap against the table to emphasize his pout, “let’s not spend dinner wasting our attention on those exaggerated recounts. We’re on holiday.” He threw out another whine at the end and knew the effect it had on Aziraphale when her plump bottom lip stuck out for his plight.

“You’re absolutely right, dear boy.” The newspaper was picked up and rolled into a matter pushed to the edge of the table for another day, reading glasses folded neatly on top. As soon as her fingers left the paper they fluttered over to the macaroon dish. “And may I say this was an exceptional choice of dining, Crowley.” Aziraphale raised her champagne flute up with an appreciative wiggle and the prim little smile on her full lips was enough to send Crowley into a goopy puddle on the dinner table, could almost feel himself begin to melt.

“Barely an effort,” was all he could manage through the rock in his throat, too busy admiring Aziraphale admiring the decorated walls around them with approving _oohs_ and _awws_ at the many autographed paintings and portraits. “Ol’ Signor Pagani owed me a favor, you know how it goes.” He waved a dismissive hand like it was no big deal.

Aziraphale, clever as always, brought the rim of her flute to her lips and paused curiously before glancing at him. “Dear boy, you would have been asleep before Signor Pagani was alive. How could you have known….?”

“Technicalities n’such, doesn’t matter. Table opened up, here we are.” He grinned his way out of the lie but made sure to finish with a, “and may I say, Angel, exceptional choice of a dinner gown.” He motioned his head toward the pale blue satin gown that wrapped around her soft frame, cutting off just at the bend of her pale shoulders, the cream silk pleating framing her cleavage magnificently. He watched her eyes light up as her back straightened somewhat in her seat at the compliment. “Glad to be out of that stuffy old maid’s outfit, are you?”

One of her pale shoulders shrugged. “You know I am not one to worry over style, that’s more your department. Although, I am pleased to know it suits your… _fancy_ , my dear.” She finished with a wink before popping a whole macaroon in her mouth.

The comment went unnoticed for all but four seconds before the words settled in Crowley’s brain, and his mouth abruptly malfunctioned with a strangled hiccup. His elbow twitched, and the closest plate of lemon custard spread nearly catapulted to a nearby table if it were not for his quick reflexes.

Even after all they had been through, one sly comment could still send him sputtering like a swooning schoolboy. Some things never changed, it seemed.

But some things had changed between them, in more surprising ways than Crowley would have ever imagined, leaving him to wonder just what he had done to deserve this; an extended holiday with his angel, who looked radiant and beautiful and _his_ , with nothing more planned than lavish dinners, rendezvous at theaters, operas, and nights tossing above his bedsheets in fits of ecstasy.

Thoughts, or more like dreams, of all the devious things Crowley had in store for Aziraphale made his knee bounce vigorously under the table, a light shiver crawling up his spine to leave the small hair on the nape of his neck stand at attention, the hand splayed on table now curling and uncurling in growing anticipation.

Devious things. He was going to debauch the angel, intoxicate her brain with nothing but pleasurable sensations by his ministrations and leave her mewling desperately for his touch. Thousands of years of naughty fantasies, almost too many to keep track, he suddenly wondered if an itinerary would be necessary only for the sole purpose of checking as many off his list as possible.

“Itineraries are good….” Crowley murmured under his breath, eyes boring a hole through his lenses dead centered at the champagne chilling in the middle of the table and unknown to him causing the ice in the silver bucket to melt under the heat.

“Oh?” Aziraphale piped up from across the table, swallowing her bite of something before engaging Crowley. “You have an itinerary for tonight?”

“Mm.” He grunted, sounding miles away and if the angel only knew the vivid images playing behind his eyes her whole body would be positively scarlet from her plump cheeks to her cute little ankles that for some reason – he would have to blame it on the humans and their odd fetishes with modesty – drove him absolutely mad.

“How delightful!” He could hear her chirp and just as his eyes broke from the champagne holder, they caught the second her shoulders hitched with the happiness in her voice and caused her full breasts to bounce. The blood rushing from areas of his body to other areas of his body was not by his choice.

Instead of clouding Crowley’s judgement, the sensation sobered him out of his devilish thoughts. He had to concentrate. Now was not the time to stain this lovely evening with selfish visions of debauching the angel of his dreams when said angel looked at him with such excitement and fondness for an undisturbed evening in each other’s company enjoying all the finer things this world had to offer. After all they had been through over the last week, after all Aziraphale had been through over the last several months, she deserved nothing but the best.

Her excitement was evident in the care and detail she put in her outfit, from the small white flowers she tucked into her styled hair bun which complimented the white frills and pleating of her dress. Aziraphale never changed her wardrobe unless required to, never put so much apparent thought in her appearance. It was stunning, or at least it stunned Crowley who upon seeing her so put together for an evening with a demon like himself had caused two nearby carriages to collide just so she wouldn’t see him choke back his heart from jumping out of his mouth while his legs buckled like a newborn calf. Thank Satan for small diversions.

It was decided then that Crowley would be on his best behavior until the end of the night. It would be no small task for him, but it was the least he could do to ensure Aziraphale would have an amazing night—

His decision died and all the discipline he had mustered in the past few minutes went with it as Aziraphale muttered something over the rim of her flute just before tipping it up for a sip.

“I wonder if this itinerary includes activities of the…coital variety?”

And because Aziraphale never did anything half-arse, the comment was accompanied by a smooth ankle brushing up against his calf lucratively under the table; a sly soft motion, it traveled up until the point of her shoe met the back of his knee before slipping down where the bend of her foot hooked around his.

What came next was all impulse and zero suave. Instead of a subtle smirk or playful quirk of a thin brow, Crowley’s reflexes sent the blunt of his knee slamming the table hard enough to clatter the plates and silverware nearly tipping over his champagne flute if it weren’t for his silent request for the glass to keep itself together because he certainly wasn’t able to.

A few heads from nearby tables turned around to look at them, and one quiet snarl had them ducking back to mind their own business.

Crowley, wiggling straight in his seat and face flushed, turned to Aziraphale with what started off as a scandalous expression swiftly transitioned to an open mouth gawk, blubbering lips and all. The gall of this angel to mask her evident want to burst out laughing behind a facetious little smirk, the rim of her flute resting on her bottom lip while her eyes gazed off just to the side as though she had nothing to do with his ruckus. Well, wasn’t she just the picture of perfect composure?

The serpent would have to fix that right quick. 

Aziraphale finally looked at Crowley with a slow blink, shoulders straight and barely able to contain a playful wiggle. “Oh, not to change the topic,” as she quickly changed the topic, “were you able to get your victory dance in after delivering your report? You’re rather fond of them.”

The audacity. It was delicious. He stared at her incredulously. “I did.” he allowed himself to relax and lean back in his chair as one long leg stretched forward under the table. His shoe was off before he could finish the miracle.

“Big fan, me. Good for the immortal soul,” as he rambled, socked toes found their way to one delectable ankle and brushed up against it playfully. He ignored her squeak to continue, “a few jitterbugs, some one-man quadrilles. Have you ever done the Quadrille, Angel? You might like it,” his toes fluttered up her smooth calf, the thin fabric of her hose against the material of his sock the only barrier between their skin, and the friction found there prickled her flesh. He watched the shiver race up her spine, up the back of her neck, and Crowley put no thought into hiding his grin.

“Involves a few people, some quick stepping, but relatively well paced.” Did she think he would stop at her knee? Poor thing.

“Apparently, it was all the rave a few decades ago. You ever try it?” When the top of his foot met the soft supple regions of her inner thigh they applied pressure, his big toe digging under her garter strap, stretching, pulling, only to quickly shift away. He could hear the snap from where he sat.

“N- _oh!_ ” Aziraphale’s shoulder hitched and the bounce of her breasts were the best thing since breeches with pockets. “- _o-oh_ , n-no, I don’t believe I – no.” He had to give her props for perseverance, yet unfortunately for her Crowley was having too much fun to relent.

“Aw, you’re missing out. We’ll have to try it, yeah?”

He received a daring look from over the small dish of eclairs, which he promptly ignored. Allowing his head to drop a bit, the smooth metal of Crowley’s spectacles slid down the bridge of his nose as yellow eyes eclipsed from behind shaded lenses, looking pointedly at the blushing angel in all her flustered glory.

Everything about Aziraphale was pink but her dress; a dusty spread over her cheeks spanned across her nose from bridge to tip, the tips of her shoulders, and – oh, were those splotches of pink across the tops of her luscious mounds? What would it take for him to say sod the finer etiquettes he was going to freestyle nosedive right in that cleavage and leave no inch of soft pale flesh unmarred—

“Enjoying yourself, I see?”

Crowley blinked and realized he had been unabashedly staring at her breasts. Breasts that were now more than splotched pink, bulging out of the rim of her wide frilly collar with every quickened breath—

“Now you’re just being a glutton.” Aziraphale, though exasperated, sucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and it snapped Crowley’s eyes up to lock onto hers. 

Heaven, who was this demon with so much confidence? It was like being on a runaway train, and he found himself too addicted to the adrenaline rush to stop.

Honey gold challenged blue steel in a silent stare down, but Crowley was already revved up harder than a full speed locomotive so it was with no additional effort that he won the match. It was truly an unfair victory; he couldn’t blame her for buckling under the intensity of his stare all the while having to fight back a sudden salacious whine. His darling angel just couldn’t withstand the power of a well-placed pinch, specifically in the space of inner thigh so torturously close to her delicious heat he almost felt bad for her. Almost.

What came out of his mouth next surprised both of them. With a voice thick and tone firm, he never broke eye contact as he said, “Angel, trust me when I say this is _not_ gluttony.” A pause for effect, and ever so slightly his thin body shifted forward until he was halfway leaning over the table and dropped his voice to a low murmur as if he were about to share a juicy opinion – which was technically true.

“Take it from a demon, Angel, if I were to demonstrate _true_ gluttony, I would have cleared this table a _long_ time ago,” his foot applied pressure to her inner thigh again just to drive his words home and drive her crazy at the same time, “would have thrown you on top of it and taken you over, and over, until this _entire_ establishment knew how badly I’ve waited to have you.”

The silence that followed was a new one. There were a lot of new things transpiring suddenly, so without any prior experience to work off of Crowley instantly wondered if what he said was too much.

Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes, and the self-deprecating part of Crowley took full advantage of the situation by reminding him of his rightful place; specifically, under the soles of the angel’s shoes where a demon appropriately belonged and certainly not sitting here ruining a beautiful romantic dinner spinning stories of how desperate he was to debauch her.

_Back up. Back up!_ His mind screamed, silent and waiting on the outside but screaming and flailing on the inside. He fucked up. Had one job, and mucked it up spectacularly—

Just as a young well-dressed waiter passed by their table, Aziraphale jerked her head in the man's direction and threw a hand out to nudge the crook of his elbow, gaining his startled attention.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale called out, all smile and no courtesy. “Would you be so kind, my dear fellow, as to bring us the check? Unprecedented rush.” She ended the reason clipped and prim like no one but an angel could accomplish, and with a sweet smile the waiter nodded politely and hurried away.

One by one Crowley’s brain cells malfunctioned, until the only thing he was able to do was swallow nothing but the large knot of nauseating dread which threatened to choke him. He couldn’t quite tell how much damage his reckless behavior caused and that terrified him.

She had yet to speak to him, or look at him, and as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin daintily Crowley watched for any indication of anger or indignation. He found neither.

By some unholy miracle, Crowley found his voice and it was a small stuttering version of what it once was. He straightened in his chair. “A-Angel…?”

“It appears we will have to reschedule our night at the theater.”

His blood ran _cold_.

A million words wanted to come out of Crowley’s mouth, but would they be enough? His brain battled against his tongue in a blind hysteria. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, shouldn’t have said it. I thought – doesn’t matter, I fucked up, overplayed it, please don’t walk away –_

His mouth finally opened, but snapped it shut when he suddenly found himself staring at a very dangerous look on Aziraphale’s face.

“Forgive me, Crowley, but after what you have just said I fear the theater would be horrified if they discovered what I would do to you once the box curtains closed.”

_Please don’t – what?_

“Whh?” Crowley tried.

Aziraphale allowed him no time to correct himself. “And knowing you, our seats are the most private ones they offer. I shan’t allow myself to be tempted by such.” She fluttered her eyes across the room, scanning faces, movement, and finally found Crowley’s after a very obvious and _very_ indecent up-and-down stare. Her body leaned forward and oh, he was still leaning over the table like a buffoon but at least she didn’t have to go far to brush her lips against the shell of his ear.

“I would very much like to see this… _demonstration_ of gluttony you speak of, dearest.” The angel kissed the words into the sensitive flesh of his earlobe.

His skin felt like it was on fire. But there were far more pressing matters that needed his attention right now. Crowley bobbed his head a little when his mouth just couldn’t make words, and he didn’t stop bobbing his head until well after Aziraphale leaned back to inspect her bastardly-clever handiwork.

Damn that smug little smile. He wanted to kiss it bruised.

“Darling, be a dear and hail a carriage round while I take care of the check? Preferably the gentlemen that dropped us off. He should already know the route back to the bookshop.”

From four tables over, an unopened and newly arrived bottle of chardonnay spontaneously combusted in a waiter’s hand, and Crowley bolted for the front doors in search of that blessed carriage driver before his angel’s devious behavior set off any more misfired miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall already know what's about to happen ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) if ya'll don't mind some spoilers, I will say next chapter is going to be smuttastic.
> 
> And also some old faces make a return for the big finale. Stay tuned for the last 2 chapters!
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm swimming in a sea of amazing reviews and fanart and it's positively spoiling me. Thank you all so much! 
> 
> I will keep it quick, because my heart is pounding in anticipation to post this chapter. I promised a chapter-length naughty bit, and I hope I delivered the goods <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ) one of the reasons why this story is rated for mature audiences hehehe- enjoy!

It took exactly eight knocks on the window of the carriage door yet it was not until the driver’s fist was raised for knock number nine that the door swung open, nearly hitting the poor old man in the nose had he not jumped back at the last second.

However, the meek old driver was not as surprised as he admittedly should have been, if the noises that came from inside the carriage on the way here were anything to go by. He was not sure _what_ he expected to see exit, all he was sure of – and his spooked horses would have probably agreed with him – was that he wanted them the hell out of it.

He got his wish in the form of a blushing blond maiden darting out first, her hands full of bunched up baby blue dress and wielding a large excited smile, leaving a trail of giggles and loose locks of curls behind in her sprint to the front doors of the antique bookshop they stopped in front of. Five minutes ago.

How the doors opened for her without a single flick of a wrist would forever remain a mystery to the old man. His attention went back to the carriage as long fingers extended from inside the compartment to spider-crawl around the doorframe on either side, and the tall, thin, grinning man clad in black – the same one who ran right out in front of his horses with flailing arms like the cad’s top hat was full of lead – emerged to throw one long leg out, completely missing the two small steps, and was out of the carriage in one long stride.

Facing the doors of the bookshop while eyes hid behind a pair of dark spectacles, the dark dressed gentlemen gave no indication he was aware of the old man standing to his immediate right. That was, until a lanky arm shot out to drop a drawstring leather pouch in front of the old driver who fumbled with his hands in an attempt to catch it.

His salt-pepper eyebrows shot up at the weight of the pouch in his cupped palms.

“Sir, this is significantly more than what I charged….?” His words trailed off when the thin man took a breath so deep he resembled a proud rooster. He readied himself for an extravagant speech from the aristocrat about charities and how it would benefit his reputation or whatever helped the ridiculously wealthy of London sleep better at night. What he got instead was nothing of the sort.

“The extra should cover the damages.” A quick thumb over his shoulder was the only explanation given before the redheaded man advanced toward the bookshop doors with three impossibly long steps and a sinister chuckle. How the doors closed for him without a single flick of a wrist would forever remain a mystery to the old the man, but the new appearance of a _Closed for Repairs_ sign slapped on the windowpane was a clear enough answer.

-:-

Leather and paper and sweet scents lingering together in the air brought Crowley back to near a century ago just before his nap, and what a time that was; successfully duped two archangels into withdrawing Aziraphale’s relocation, good moods, good wine, and good moans from the angel indicated he’d picked out some damn good chocolates for the grand opening of the bookshop.

It would be a stressful few years later that Crowley watched Aziraphale stomp away, something broken between them as he watched his cry for help burn to ashes across St. James pond, blinded by how one word – _fraternizing_ – could feel like a million red hot lances piercing his heart.

Fate, however ineffable it might be, had a funny way of making memories seem so outlandish in hindsight when the events which led him to this very spot were in no way expected. For a terrifying second, Crowley had wondered if he would ever be invited back here – hence the original plan to show up with two opera tickets, roses for days, and the best chocolates with a thick layer of _I’m sorry_ all over it – so when Crowley decided to inhale just then it was his sole intent to get damn-near high off the scents of his angel–

When he crossed the threshold into the round room just under the wide dome skylight above, that deep breath came shooting out of his lungs like compressed steam.

In the darkness of the shop, the skylight casted a blue hue of moonlight down akin to a spotlight. Yes, spotlight was the perfect resemblance, because in the middle of the massive rug the soft blue glow exposed a mound of discarded clothes; specifically, a dress, stockings, shoes, and _by the nine realms,_ a trail consisting of knickers and a corset led to the edge of the reading den where the moonlight could not reach, and in a direction made difficult by what the darkness hid from view.

There was suddenly lightening under Crowley’s skin, and a suffocating tightness in the crotch of his breeches.

He didn’t fight the excited cackle that echoed in the silence of the shop, his body instinctively bending to a stance ready for a proper lurk, long gloved fingers plucking his spectacles off the bridge of his nose and deftly removed his top hat, popping the glasses in the depth of the hat before tossing them on a nearby chair.

“Oh, Angel, so you _were_ listening, then. Lecherous thing….”

Slit pupils dilated, adjusting to the darkness as they scanned the area. Nostrils flared. A snap of fingers unhooked the collar of his cloak, the weight noticeably absent from his shoulders once the heavy fabric pooled at his heels. His shoes were gone before he had time to feel the cool hardwood under his socked feet.

“…we’ll do it proper this time.”

He glided into the shadows of the night, slipping into the seams of the darkness leaving no trace of his presence behind.

It suddenly occurred to him that Aziraphale had never given him the grand tour, and he was two seconds too late before his entire left half collided with the edge of a bookshelf, a chorus of hissed profanities the cherry on top.

What started off badly had a delightfully opposite effect. A few books crammed into the shelves fell to the floor making a much louder racket than it looked, and Crowley had no time to curse his clumsiness as a voice called out from the shadows.

“Careful, dear. Those are origina- _eep_!”

He had no time to process if her actions were intentional or not when his feet moved faster than his brain in that instance, gliding across the isles of bookshelves toward her voice, his ears picking up scurrying footfalls and their echo threatened to throw him off the trail.

“Making this easy, Angel!” Crowley closed his lips before he drooled on himself, hungry for his catch, those juicy plump thighs, the thought of them quivering against the sides of his face while he tasted her—

He could have sworn he saw a few long blond curls flutter around one dark corner, and he was there in microseconds ready to trap Aziraphale in his arms when the next thing he knew he was staring at a lit candle perched on its holder mounted to the solid end of the bookshelf. Hanging off the end of the holder – still swaying gently – was a frilly silky thing and the instant Crowley’s brain registered what it was it felt like a gut punch.

_A garter strap._

Sometimes it was spooky how well Aziraphale could read him. It was like she popped into his head for a quick peak and discovered his obsession with those fabulous thighs.

Crowley hoped she could hear the hunger in his voice. “You know me so well.” He took the garter from the holder to give his fingers something to fidget with. As he descended back into the shadows he rumbled, “those thighs haunt me, you must know by now. That night in the sheets, you gave me a taste and left me near mad for more.”

Speaking of haunting, he suddenly had a wonderful idea.

-:-

Who knew running through the dead of night naked as a newborn could feel so exhilarating, because Aziraphale surely did not until now.

A bit brisk, and everything her soft flesh brushed against felt so very real in a strange way, so much so she was starting to get accustomed to the outbreak of goosebumps all over her body.

And maybe it had to with her being home after so many months away, feeling all the familiar grooves and ridges of her beloved books under her fingertips, indulging in the warm comfort of her surroundings while her heart beat excitedly against her ribcage in anticipation for whatever Crowley had in store for them.

Her dear, devoted serpent would no doubt spoil her rotten without the slighted request. Entertaining one of his fantasies was a good start and the least she could do.

She had the advantage, of course. Could walk the entire shop with eyes closed and not stumble once. In minutes, her poor fellow proved her speculations. The advice of caution giving herself away was, despite how it sounded, completely intentional.

However, since all the raucous noise in the beginning it had been a silent while since she’d heard or seen a glimpse of Crowley, had lost track of him much sooner than she was willing to admit.

Aziraphale found herself in the midst of a quick pause to slip a book from the shelf as soon as her eyes caught the error in her alphabetized collection when a phantom trail of warm wind danced across the nape of her neck. She nearly dropped the book, the length of her back arching with powerful shivers from the generous curve of her hips and up the angles of her shoulder blades.

The angel whipped around and saw no one there, heard nothing but the stale silence of the night.

Strange, she thought to herself, that whatever anomaly it was almost sounded like a whisper, of a word she almost swore was there now began to prey upon her imagination.

_Angel_ , it said.

_Easy, old boy_. Aziraphale was getting ahead of herself. Adrenaline was a tricky mistress which danced along her sensitive nerves, a few well-timed breaths would do nicely to calibrate her corporation—

The angel had only started her first inhale before she felt disembodied fingers trace along the back of her hip over the meat of her creamy rear and it was if she were just struck by a lightning rod and rendered her left side in a fit of shivers.

“ _Ooh~dear,_ ” solid edges of the bookshelf behind her hit the back of her knees, under the plumb rounds of her butt-cheeks, dip of her back, shoulder blades, she felt every single one simultaneously and thank Heaven for the support or else she’d be a mess on the floor.

The warm breeze from moments prior made an abrupt reappearance between Aziraphale’s quivering thighs, now distinguishably more of a hot breath than a phantom wind. Forgetting the book, her manicured fingers flew out for purchase against the shelves and nearly yanked several chronicles off in her exasperated flailing.

She all but felt the chuckle against the sensitive mons of her sex.

An astonished scoff was the intention, but what came out was a warped lewd mockery of it.

“W-Wily old ssserpant,” every syllable was no more difficult than the last one. Something the angel said only fueled the antics when the fleeting pause was replaced by pressure, splaying out like fingers, across the meat of her hips on either side. Gripping, squeezing, grounding and greedy, and appreciative all while they tortured her.

_Got you hissing, have I?_

It might as well have been kissed into her ear, it was so close and so very real in her mind despite no words spoken.

“Foul le-lecher,” Aziraphale moaned affectionately, her head tipping back until her bun cushioned the sharp corners of the shelf supporting her head. The ghostly presence of wide hands keeping her still squeezed appreciatively.

_Only for you._

“ _Heavens_ ,” she choked through trembling lips. Straining wood barely sounded nearby, and she distantly made a mental note to apologize to her poor bookshelf after this.

How eyelids could feel so heavy without a trace of exhaustion was a new experience for Aziraphale, who found herself trying harder than normal to focus her eyes on anything behind her fluttering lashes.

A ghost of a tender kiss pressed into the expanse of flesh between the fullest part of her breasts, another inch below the first only seconds later, followed by another, and another until the instant she felt a playful nip of fangs on the edge of her bellybutton, her body lit up like Christmas on Main St.

Whatever _that_ was, Aziraphale would have to make another mental note to research just how in all the spheres of Heaven could such a small sensation near her navel send explosively pleasurable flames to her vulva. For now, there were more pressing matters. Forgive the pun.

“A~ _aah_ — a haunting? _Really_ , dearest?” Aziraphale, now sounding a smidgen more normal, released her iron grip on the abused wooden shelf to wipe the light sheen of sweat from her brow, holding the back of her hand against her forehead for the dramatics as she sighed, “That’s…seriously, dear boy, that’s _cheating_.”

A kiss to her left hip bone. _Deviously so._ A kiss to her right hip bone.

Cheeky bastard was having way too much fun. It was her fault for enabling him so much.

“And a lit – _ohmy_ ,” one hand left her hip and suddenly two fingers were prying along the outermost folds of her heat dangerously close to her clitoris, facetious and challenging but not demanding. “…a-ah little unfair.”

_Oh?_

Despite it all, the angels pout was unbowed by her demon’s torture.

She whispered into the air, though unsteady was like a whispered singsong into the night to wherever he was astral projecting from. “Going th- _thhhrough_ all this trouble, so risky, when you can – _oh_ , that’s a lovely little trick with your astral-tongue, my love.” Compliment where compliment is due regardless of the situation, that’s what she always said.

Did she still have feet? She hadn’t felt them in a good while, had long ago considered them a puddle of goop before reasoning physics behind that assumption.

Aziraphale’s trademark pout stayed true and carried onward. “B-But, dear boy, you could very ea-easily be _here_ , with me.” Damn him for not technically being here. Tempting an astral projection just didn’t have the same effects. 

_True…._

Her brain, by some miracle it was still functioning, filled in the _but_ before Crowley continued.

_…but then again, I couldn’t do this._

Again, it was Aziraphale’s fault for enabling him so much. And for being in love with an absolute bastard.

A flash of movement, of a transparent shape bending air and atoms around it, only caught the angel’s clouded attention for a second with no warning as it left her hip and reached across a short plain finding her right hand, hovering above it, and then disappearing soundlessly into her hand.

Ice seeped inside of her chest and froze into something heavy and kindred to a jolt of excitement hither to undreamt of by a proper angel. Good thing Aziraphale never considered herself a proper angel in that aspect.

The angel watched, equal parts delirious and awestruck, as her hand unplucked itself one finger at a time from the destructive hold on the bookshelf before sauntering over her body starting from her pert pink nipple venturing down across the expanse of her tummy, finally reaching her garden of light blond curls with featherlight taps.

Never had Aziraphale performed any self-inflicted erotic enlightenment while in this gender, although even if she had there would still exist this uncanny sensation of feeling her hand cosset herself in such a vulgar fashion without a shred of say-so in it. Those were her fingers slipping between the folds of her pussy in eagerness, her nails gliding over the smooth flesh. Those were her fingers drenched to the second knuckle in her own juices, her wrist rotating as fingers found rhythm.

It was _his_ power, and the revelation almost blinded her with a colorful array of fireworks going off behind her eyelids, stormy blue irises halfway rolling up into her head.

“ _Crowley_ ~.” Aziraphale mewled, shameless and wanton enough to appropriately emphasize the tremors in her thighs pushing herself into her fingers, caught between his control and the bookshelf and rocking against both until the bookshelf shook with her.

_Yessss?_

Even in astral form his hiss dried her throat, leaving her beyond deprived at this point and tiptoeing toward discorporation.

“H-Heavens….” Was all she could muster.

_That’s not very nice._

“Hush.” She squeaked, not at all intimidating. The angel’s entire body moved with the circular motions pressing deliciously into her labia and clitoris, juices spreading down her fingers.

“Dear-dearest, _please_ ….” Her head fell back against the shelf again, eyes finally closing to the intensity of a building heat coiling just under her belly, an inferno raging deep inside her, climbing pressure of something about to explode.

“ _Please_ ,” her voice rebelled against her in favor of crying out to him, “m-more, please, _yes,_ ” the pressure reached her heart, then her eyes, and Aziraphale chased it with a desperation she had never experienced for anything so badly before.

On the precipice of a mind-blowing orgasm did the demon suddenly decide to pause, and all that aforementioned pressure held for only a millisecond before deflating, leaving the angel to pick up the pieces through a drunk delirium with nothing more than a high-pitched whine.

Aziraphale should have known that an angel’s cries would be heard, however unexpected it should have been that they were heard and answered by a demon. Her quivering chin was held firm by warm fingers, holding the cry as they tipped her head up, a strong hand caressing up her arm to interrupt scrambling fingers blindingly trying for any support they could find, weaving thin fingers between hers, holding them against the solid of the wood.

“Should see yourself right now.”

Real words blew hot against her flushed cheek, calling eyelids to attention, fluttering obediently open to fix a dazed glare directly into grinning marbles of radiant orange haloing dilated pupils. They threatened to set her insides on fire, those unblinking beautiful stars Aziraphale had the pleasure of stealing away from the world for herself.

His hoarse whisper finally reached her ears, like a delicious layer of sweet icing on her tongue, tempted her to lean forward were it not for his hold on her chin.

Crowley’s tall frame crowded closer to her, pushing her into the bookshelf when she was certain there hadn’t been any space left to close until she was practically hoisted up, her voluptuous bottom shared between the edge of one shelf and a clothed knee snug against her bare sex.

The friction of his knee on her bundle of nerves was damn near enough to bring back that wonderful pressure in her loins from earlier.

“So…hungry. Can’t stop looking at you, Angel.” Crowley sounded closer now, knowing he could do whatever he wanted to her in her bleary state and greedily doing so. Soft lips latched on to her pale throat, his fingers nudging her head to the side for more room to spoil her neck with attention.

His other hand, the one holding hers against an unknown batch of hard leather-bound books, pushed off and pulled hers with him, relocating them to a space above her head before pinning her wrist against the smooth polished wood with only a few fingers.

And that was when Azirpahale’s heart backflipped into her throat, rendering her body rigid. Drums thundered in her ears and this wasn’t at all what she had experienced before with Crowley, this was something altogether different and alarming.

Over Crowley’s shoulder, books turned to stone, bookshelves shifting until the only thing could see were two large walls on either side of them, gaslit lamps exposing an endless passageway that extended into an endless pit of darkness. The drums were overwhelming now, beating against her skull, fighting against a winning battle with her aching lungs.

She was also unsure as to what she did which gained her demon’s attention then, as when her brain and eyes caught up to present Aziraphale realized she was back in her bookshop being lavishly debauched by her brilliant old serpent, whose face was now inches from hers and wearing a concerned expression so unfitting for the mood it pulled the rest of her back to reality with a curious squint.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah, iss’me. You alright?” He spoke with such softness; it was almost difficult to believe he was a literal demon. Those eyes, so hungry only moments ago had flipped the script quickly in favor of ensuring she was okay because that’s what mattered more to him than anything else right now.

What had she done to cause this?

“I…I think so.” Aziraphale searched more to find the cause than to consider it’s effects, her pinched look of concern roaming over Crowley’s wild expression to the distance over his shoulder as if she would find it out there somewhere. “Not entirely sure what…?”

Crowley made a face, but he believed her. “Could feel your heartbeat, was like a tribal ceremony in there.” His attempts to break the somber mood was more than appreciated, but sadly not enough to ignore what had just happened.

An awkward silence settled over them despite neither of them moving an inch save for Crowley’s hold on her only a fraction of the strength he applied earlier. The silence was heavy, the awkwardness moreso, but the abrupt onset of guilt and embarrassment was more than the formers combined.

The angel opened her mouth to ask and was surprised to hear Crowley took the words right out of her.

“Did I – did I do something?” His big eyes scanned them both down and back up to lock onto her confused stare.

If Crowley was expecting a deflection to his question, he was not in the wrong for it yet Aziraphale had learned more about them in the last week or so than she had in thousands of years, so her decision not to repeat history at that moment was driven by her chance to finally reach out and meet him in the middle.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps? It was all so sudden, for a split second I found myself…,” she processed the words coming out of her mouth as soon as they left, “…back at the castle. That night when I thought—”

She swallowed the rest of that sentence down with the hard lump of dread which had formed at the start of her reply and there was a reason for it she found too late, as when Crowley visibly filled in the blanks with his own imagination she could feel his entire body go completely still, and to her horror the feeling of his body pressed up against hers grew stale and uncertain.

It was like watching a flame being snuffed out; a similarity Aziraphale never wanted to associate with her marvelous demon. Shame came to the forefront of his handsome features, shifting those beautiful sharp angles into a heartbreaking frown of disappointment for no one but himself.

She would have none of that if she could help it. Too panicked to admit she was not in full control of herself, and without thinking she slapped his hands away from her, making him flinch back only briefly before she pushed into his space between long open arms to grab both sides of his face, cupping his jaw and pulled him down in a heated kiss.

A little sloppy, quite disorganized, but unquestionably fierce it was meant to be so much more than a kiss; a promise, a reassurance, and endless trust. To her joy, his arms snaked around her shoulders just as desperately needy as she was.

When she pulled away, it was to pepper his lips and chin and nose with small chaste kisses. Between each kiss she stole a quick fond glance and said, “none of that, my dear.”

Another sweet peck to his pouting lips. “A minor blip, nothing to fret over.”

Poor dear, he more resembled a kicked puppy than of a demonic serpent from Hell.

Crowley hung his head slightly and looked up at her. “…you sure?”

Aziraphale challenged his pout with a firm broad smile, her stare unbreakable. “You could never hurt me.”

His smile was a weak wobbly thing, but it met his brilliant eyes all the same. Whoever said a demon could not love was a stubborn liar.

Now having quite enough of that for one day, Aziraphale broke the spell over them with a playful slap across the demon’s chest. It was her turn to pout, and she made sure to bite the insides of her cheeks to really bring it home.

“Now take me to bed, damn you. I’ve waited long enough.”

-:-

Crowley had never felt so akin to a starved hound in all his long, _long_ life.

A greedy, gluttonous hound from the steepest pits of Hell.

“ _Ah–ah–ahh~_!”

The metal bedstead smacked the tapestry wall with each cry, and Crowley prided on his ability to create such a chorus of sounds all with a pivot of his hips, as if he were being serenaded for fucking his plush angel into the coil-spring mattress beneath.

Their bare sweaty skin slapped together with every rhythmic thrust, a delicious sound he never wanted to stop, _never stop_ , not ever, unless he was stupid enough to give up what a stunning portrait Aziraphale made; splayed across the bed beneath him on a bed of rumpled sheets and flowing blond curls, curls that bounced in tune with her milky pale breasts – what a contrast their complexions made, especially in the dim light, his tanned skin only making her porcelain skin glow more vibrant – in wild motions that entranced him, would call him down to lavish with bites and licks all the while never breaking momentum.

Crowley realized he hadn’t uttered a single word for a good minute, and quickly decided he was not going to be the quietest thing in the room when even the bloody bed frame was louder than he was.

With arms full of those sinning thighs he adored so much, Crowley repositioned himself with a shift from one knee a fraction to the left while lifting Aziraphale up a little and to the right. His cock slid slowly from her tight heat, humming like a proper demon at the licentious mewls it pulled from her, and promptly slid his full length back in, giving her no time to miss him because deep down he was a giver, always had been when it came to Aziraphale.

“ _Oh_ , look what I found.” He taunted down at her, tongue running over his lips instinctively at the sight of her flushed rosy cheeks, a similar blush spread over various areas of plump skin. Snake eyes locked onto her cloudy storms of ethereal blues and grays, speckles of gold peeking out from the fog to shine bright.

She was drunk off of this, hedonistically so, yet she still maintained enough coherency to writhe over the bed, arching her back, craning her pale throat to whip back a shameless song with his name the only lyrics found.

Her lovely legs spasmed around him, Crowley could even feel the shockwave in her calves trying and failing to hang on for dear life, one quivering around his waist while the other mimicked the same over his opposite shoulder.

“What a special spot I’ve found. Shall I…,” he repeated his earlier pull out and thrust back in, more curious than anything.

“ _Crowley!”_ Aziraphale cried out brokenly, the hand not threatening to shred the bedsheets flew up to perhaps caress his face, he wasn’t quite sure. They did not seem to make it very far and settled on running the pads of her fingers over his sinewy torso, hungry and needy as they roamed over the grooves of bone and muscle, pausing a few times to flutter with the trail of crimson hair from his chest to navel.

“H-Heav- _oh my word_ , Crowley – _Crowley,_ ” if she could see herself now, she would be wonderfully aghast by how she utterly ravaged she looked while currently seeking out her fourth orgasm of the night. It showed in the way she had no idea how to move her lips, those swollen pink delectable things he’d spent most of the night biting and sucking. They were parted and made way for breathless sobs which fueled his salacious appetite for her, he was sure he could cum from the sounds she made alone.

Tricky little deviant had her way in the very beginning, caught him off guard with a quiet drop to her knees and his breeches had already been caught in his shoes before he realized his cock was already pressing into the back of her throat and also the reason why he couldn’t feel his toes. The orgasm was cataclysmically powerful to say the least, he remembered questioning whether he would ever be able to see again at one point during it all, but as soon as his bones stopped being jelly he realized the bloody brat of an angel smugly claimed one of his victories.

It was simply unforgivable. Naturally, he had to do something about it.

And so, after several hours in several positions and several sweet releases later, it was only appropriate that Crowley not back down until he was certain she had learned an important lesson and given her much deserves.

“ _Angel_ ,” he crooned low and dripping with affection, drawing out her pet-name with an equally drawn out swivel of his hips back and forth, feeling every inch of her tight cavern, so hot and wet and all around him and – he cut himself off to throw his head back in abandon. “ _Ssssatan_ , you’re amazing, leagues more than, you’re _perfect_.”

“ _Ahh,_ m-my love,” Aziraphale was close, judging by the cry that bubbled up from deep in her throat with gasping breaths.

Crowley wanted to taste those cries. Nearly bending her in half, he draped his long body over hers until they were nose to nose, bodies crashing together and somehow never breaking the quickening pace of his thrusts.

“More than…,” he breathed over the angel’s trembling lips, “you’re _mine_.”

He swallowed her final cries, tasting a sweet unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Not even the best made mead of this world could compare to such a honey-wine flavor of Aziraphale when she unraveled in ecstasy underneath him. He moved with her, riding out her quakes and shivers until they subsided to small tired mewls.

How she loved the petting after a round of love making, Crowley was a sucker for them himself but that would come later because right now he was not done worshiping her. Didn’t fancy stopping any time soon, either.

Crowley did all the little things he learned as of recent that she loved, like gently combing hair out of her eyes with his fingers, featherlight kisses to her pulse above her collarbone, nuzzling his forehead into her shoulder. On the outside he appeared soft and cuddly, but on the inside, there were ulterior motives at work for the wily tempter. The former was there as well, of course, but definitely ulterior motives.

Get her snuggled in, get her comfortable, relaxed…and then strike with a torturous fifth orgasm. It was positively demonic.

So much so, he could not help but chuckle and covered it up quickly. “My strong, resilient angel. What is it now, four?” They both knew he was keeping track. He traveled up her once pale throat now flushed and spotted with small red and blue marks, feeling her breathing finally steady as her bare chest expanded slowly against his.

“You did so well for me, Aziraphale.” Crowley praised, playful in tone yet sincere with each word mumbled against her pulse.

“Th-thank you, dear.” Her meek reply was beyond adorable, but it didn’t sound as exhausted as the demon had hoped.

“Let’s stay here awhile, yeah?” He was not deterred and offered a chance to cuddle and bask in the afterglow which was another one of her favorites. “Just like this.” His too, but again, ulterior motives.

Crowley didn’t register the angel’s movements until a hand gripped his chin and firmly lifted his head up until their eyes met, and what the demon saw in those darkening blues made him swallow his smug smirk.

Clever angel. She had already figured him out.

Irises the color of sapphire narrowed suspiciously. “Actually, my dear, I was sort of feeling a bit…how should I say this, _peckish_?”

Not understanding the choice of phrase whatsoever, Crowley blinked with a flatline expression.

“Oh. You’re hungry. That’s all?” Okay, he could work with this. Was more than prepared, if the tray of various fruits and cheeses miracled on the coffee table in the middle of the small dusty flat had any say in it. They’d be back on track after a quick bite.

“Hm,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully at him, as if trying to find the right words to correct him without saying he was wrong. Her other hand reached up to play with the loose crimson locks across his forehead. “Not for food, though let’s put a pin in that idea for later, but moreover…oh dear,” her swollen bottom lip was sucked between her teeth for a shy nibble. Crowley suddenly felt the urge to steal that lip from her greedy teeth.

Before Crowley could inquire further, Aziraphale beat him to it.

“Probably better to show you than explain, it seems.” It was a temptation barely veiled behind an artificial naivety, and she knew he could see through it. Unfortunately – doubtfully so – for Crowley he was a hair too late to realize the angel had ulterior motives of her own, as the last thing he saw was a cheeky grin before the world erupted in a blur of movement.

If he were asked how long the blurry movement went on for, he couldn’t answer that. However, he was very much aware of the fact that in those moments a lot of things happened.

Specifically, certain sounds that only came after some expertly performed miracles. The smells too, of static heat and it was confirmed by the plague of goosebumps over his lanky frame, which was now sprawled out across the bed and flat on his back.

He blinked twice at the pale expanse of ceiling above, and he dared himself a glance down with a small lift of his head.

A wide hand, stronger and larger than before, met him halfway as thick fingers slipped behind his ear combing across his scalp to help lift his head up higher, or controlling his movements he could not decipher. The palm that cradled the right side of his face was significantly more masculine in structure than he had grown accustomed to recently.

“Forgive me if I seem too forward,” spoke an angel soft tone pitches deeper than what it was only a short time ago, yet it was not a new sound. In fact, the age-old familiar voice washed over Crowley in a refreshing wave of remembrance, almost bringing forth a shocked cry from the demon’s open mouth.

His eyes rounded, seeing his same lover in the same bed they had just spent the last several hours breaking in, literally and figuratively, but instead of seeing a softer more feminine bone structure framed by locks of long blond hair he saw—

“Aziraphale,” Crowley swallowed nothing down his dry throat, “ngk, y-you’re…?”

Always one for the oddest responses to things, the angel chirped bright and energetically.

“Surprise!” He sang, an excited little note, and paused to chuckle through a pearly-white smile while he allowed Crowley a moment to register.

Always one for awkward bouts of silence, the angel chirped again.

“It’s me!” He put a little jazz-hand behind it for that extra spark.

Crowley deadpanned. “Wh—? I know it’s _you_ , Angel, y’know what I meant.”

“Yes! Well,” the angel withdrew a little of his energy to appear thoughtful again, eyes roaming around the room tepidly as he stole small glances toward Crowley. Fingers kneaded delightfully into the demon’s scalp as Aziraphale mapped out his next words.

“What with my assignment near its end, save for a few more months getting the children settled in their new home – darling old uncle on Charles’ side. A few bolts too loose, old as the earth and possibly just as wealthy, but is fiercely loyal to the idea of looking after their fortune inheritance and ensuring they are ready to take the helm of the Estate once they’re of the age—”

“Angel.”

“Apologies, dear boy.” Aziraphale winced only a little. “Point is, I can change back to address those matters. In the meantime” there it was, that shy smirk he could watch blossom into an affectionate smile until the end of the world and thereafter, “now that I’m with you, and we’re here…,” he trailed off to shrug one broad shoulder as his eyes strayed, “did not see a reason to stay one way or another. All the same to me, really, give or take a few unique physical attributes.”

Crowley could watch his angel babble nervously until the end of the world and thereafter, that was until his brain focused in on the word _nervously_.

Aziraphale retracted a fraction of an inch, and it made the demon want to lunge.

“Unless of course you…you would rather I change back—?”

“ _No._ ” He planted his weight on one elbow while his other arm shot up to place a hand over his angel’s which had followed the demon’s movements effortlessly. Crowley’s forked tongue fluttered past his lips to collect the angel’s manicured thumb, feeling the power of his male corporation on the flat of Crowley’s tongue as it slithered up, etching the lines of his lover’s thumbprint to memory.

He could practically feel his slit pupils dilating in an instant from the mere mention of Aziraphale’s added strength and stock, definitely felt the blood rush to his cock quick enough to leave him briefly stupid.

This was going to be a best of both worlds’ kind of night he was absolutely here for it.

At the sound of a choked gasp from his angel, Crowley entertained Aziraphale the way some of his oldest fantasies played out starting at the point where he squirmed his long frame under Aziraphale’s thighs, making him feel every inch of what was happening and how it was affecting the demon.

He continued to suck at Aziraphale’s thumb, and let it never be argued that Crowley was an equal sucker for the dramatics. In an impressive display of multi-tasking, he managed to speak as well as peer up into stormy gray eyes from under his lashes in the same fashion he taught the angel to do so long ago.

“No, Angel. Don’t. Want you like this.” It was still impressive multi-tasking, which technically did not allude to him being able to speak very well, but whatever.

“You’re perfect. Wouldn’t want you any other way,” he stilled, and backtracked with the same impressive multi-tasking skills, “—er, that is any other way than what you choose to be. And if you choose to be that way, that’s perfect too. It is now, I mean it _was_ when you were _her_ , but no – wait, that was – hold on, lemme start over. You and _her_ are the same ‘cuz they’re both _you_ , and I want _you_ and I get both. And both are perfect, yes? Yes. Why did I put a question behind – nevermind, you get it. Hah, yeah. Fuck.”

“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale shot him such a fond look the weight of it in his too-blue eyes tilted his head to one side.

_Ack_. “Angel, please, throw me a bone’r something. I’m crashing.”

The demon’s prayers were answered, as the warm hand tenderly holding his head applied just the right amount of pressure to the base of his skull causing a burst of shivers down his long spine. His radiant angel descended down until their lips met. So different, and yet the very same. It was positively Aziraphale.

A strong, gentle arm roped around the dip of Crowley’s back and it was debatable if Aziraphale was at all phased by his demon’s weight. These thoughts and more pilfered off into the irrelevant distance as his cold-blooded body was wrapped in a soft warmth Crowley would soon come to recognize as the safest place in the universe.

“You’ve been so _sweet_ ,” no matter what gender Aziraphale chose, he was still a downright bastard, “and _loving_ , a right _tender_ fellow you have been to me this entire time, Crowley. If you would be so kind as to allow me to…return certain pleasantries?”

“Oh, Angel.” Crowley swooned into the next kiss. “Temptation accomplished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ≧°◡°≦ I'm positively blushing. I honestly did not want to stop but it was already so long. Perhaps I should add a little continuation bit? Let me know if you think so ;}
> 
> Last chapter! Familiar faces, heartfelt moments, and misunderstandings to come! Thank you for reading!!


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy lately I finally found the time to read all the recent feedback since I last posted, and I was so blown away by the continuous support I couldn't stop writing T_T this was supposed to be one of the final scenes but I got so carried away, so please enjoy an entire chapter of heartwarming fluff <3

_~Eight Months Later~_

It was one of the coldest days in the dead of winter, and Aziraphale believed her constant fuss with inclimate weather was more for the inconvenience it caused than having to worry about numb toes or – goodness forbid, the teeth chattering thing was an annoyance on its own – because despite what caused it, the former worry was always inevitable in this weather.

Specifically, the layers of wool and fur and everything else humans wrapped themselves in during the colder seasons. And though Aziraphale enjoyed layers of comfort, she also enjoyed the ability to move about freely in her own clothing.

Because at this moment, she really questioned her ability to turn her head without protest from her thick winter coat, debated doing anything with her hands that required holding something fragile when her mittens were stuffed so tight the angel was certain her fingers had not received proper blood flow in a good while.

“—Miss Fell, look out!”

If Aziraphale jolted back any farther she would have been making panicked snow angels on the ground behind her. She turned her head, the entire upper half of her body moving with her and struggled over the lining of her coat just in time to see a small round blur of white hurdling at her before a wet icy _splat_ sounded from somewhere on her person. The angel finally registered what happened, and wherever the snowball hit she never felt it through all the insufferable layers.

But she would keep that to herself for now. Quietly, she blinked and looked up ahead to see two small shocked faces adorning bodies frozen in mid-animation.

Maurielle, on her knees and positioned away had whirled her little body around to stare at Aziraphale with wide round eyes over one shoulder, her mouth a small o-shape and face framed by where dark brown curls ended and the dark brown beaver fur of her coat began remained a mystery. A yard ahead of her stood Charlie, the obvious thrower if his raised arm frozen awkwardly in the air was any giveaway, wind-burned blush accentuating the look of dread that clenched his teeth, his tight-lipped sneer crinkled his red nose.

For a moment no one said a word as the children stared at Aziraphale while she stared back.

With one last deadpanned look at herself where the snowball may have hit, Charlie let out a high pitched _eep_ when her eyes locked onto his with a gleam that was not there before.

He already knew what was coming. Sweet child, did he not know by now that his dear old nanny had a competitive streak?

“He threw it!” Maurielle squealed over her wool scarf, matching wool mittens giving her no way to point an accusing finger so instead she shot an entire hand out toward her brother. “On purpose, too! You were thinking too hard again, and Charlie—”

“—that’s wrong! Tattler, I was aiming for you—!”

The argument died the instant a chorus of wet icy _splats_ rang in the thin winter air around them, quickly accompanied by the shocked cries of both Windsor children currently under assault by a few expertly thrown and sturdy snowballs.

Though she was not one for winter wear, that wasn’t to say Aziraphale did not enjoy the benefits of the season. Snow was about as harmless as an angel who gave away flaming swords, so she wasn’t too sorry for not pulling her throws when one of the snowballs wacked Charlie square in the chest hard enough to send the boy back on his bottom in a bed of fluffy soft snow with a tiny _oof!_

Maurielle threw an arm over her face to shield herself, and as tactical as that was Aziraphale didn’t aim for the face –she was a firm believer in good sportsmanship – so unfortunately for the little girl a well-placed throw sent a snowball smacking her bottom with enough force for her to lose balance and tumble sideways into a bed of snow.

Aziraphale advanced toward them with a quick miracle while the children were distracted with wiggling their way out of the snow, having no time to gather their thoughts once they sat up before letting out simultaneous gasps as both youthful eyes looked _up_ at their nanny now standing only a few feet away.

The only time the children’s eyes broke away were to steal a glance at the perfectly molded ball of snow clutched in the angel’s hand, arm raised in polite waiting next to her wide smile.

“Wha…,” Charlie croaked, glancing at Aziraphale’s hand, her face, his body, in repeat. He left his mouth open for the next words, “..Miss Fell, how did you—?”

“Technique, dear boy. Something we clearly need a lesson on judging by that throw earlier.” She pegged him with a quirked brow, finding it near impossible to hold back the urge to break into a fit of laughter at how his young face gawked with indignance.

“Why did I get hit?” Maurielle whined, turning her nose up as she sniffled while giving her best miffed pout forward, rubbing her hand on her bottom in that dramatic way children did when they were learning how to guilt people.

Aziraphale was wise to it now after so many months in their company. She didn’t bat an eyelash as she turned on the girl with the same quirked brow. “One must not double-cross their own teammate to the opposition in the beginnings of a battle, little one. Your sentence was justly carried out as well.”

Maurielle’s pout stayed strong, her stare stronger, but she understood with a quiet nod. Where the girl remained convinced, her brother did not seem ready to drop the matter.

It made Aziraphale proud, swelling amounts of it, when the elder Windsor hopped back on his feet like the snow made it no more difficult, and matched her competitive streak with an impressively equal one and from a twelve year old at that.

Knobby knees protected by layers of wool stocking bent in a challenging stance, Charlie threw a gloved finger directly at his nanny and puffed his chest in a manner he must have observed from the roosters that roamed the farm at the back of the lavish estate.

“That’s not fair, Miss Fell! You neva’ said you were a professional! You have to teach us!” His hand made a tight fist in the air, chin wrinkling and it wiggled his lips and there was so much determination in that expression over something so small as throwing snowballs created a small warm notion in Aziraphale’s heart, reminding her of The Almighty’s intentions for these two. They would not disappoint.

“And then we have a rematch!”

The angel finally dropped her act for an open mouth smile letting her rich laughter ring like church bells around them, and before Aziraphale could make sense of it she found herself in a fit of chuckles coming from deep in her chest.

Once Charlie broke into a wild fit of laughter, Maurielle was too weak to hold her ground and joined them just as excitedly.

Fighting for composure, Aziraphale wiped a tear from her eye before it froze. “Challenge accepted, young Lord. I will make sure you two are fit for our next showdown! Huddle around, then. We’ll first start with the positions of the wrist, elbow, and shoulder….”

-:-

As expected, the children caught on quick. So quick, that the promised rematch came sooner than anticipated.

And as expected, Charlie and Maurielle took the _team_ aspect of a snowball fight to heart and organized a systematically strategized plan for victory. Seeing this warmed Aziraphale’s heart to a flaw when it pulled her in the depths of a quick daydream and vulnerable on the field.

The fight ended minutes later with the children claiming victory, and Aziraphale snuggly stuck on her back like a flipped turtle.

“Bloody layers,” she gambled a swear between clenched teeth and under a sigh when she was certain the children could not hear it over the hysteric litany of exasperated laughter. With a throw of her arms, the angel conceded to her disposition and was delighted to see her exhausted lambs throw themselves into the snow on either side of her.

Either excited flailing or an attempt at snow angels, the children giggled and wiggled before making their way to Aziraphale, tucking themselves into her sides as if snuggling up for a story. Breezes whipped across the blanketed fields around them, a quiet whisper perfectly suited for quelling laughter to tired sighs.

The three laid in the calm silence for a good amount of time considering how restless these two could be and surprised herself when she was the first to break.

“That was wonderful! So nice to see you have the room for these activities out here,” a few shimmies and she was able to clasp her hands together over her tummy, facing up into the gray cloudy sky above thoughtfully. “Your uncle is the quite the landowner – speaking of, how is he, your uncle?”

Only meeting the man briefly several months ago, Aziraphale had to admit the curiosity had been eating at her ever since that fateful half hour. He left a rather interesting impression.

And come to find out, children were treasure troves for information spoken with innocent truths.

Charlie shrugged; eyes casted down at a small stick he fuddled with in his fingers. “Good,” it was spoken simple yet promised more, “bit weird, but good.” He paused. “He makes time for us.”

There was a lot in that statement one who did not know the child would have easily overlooked. Aziraphale felt the weight of her knowledge of these two when she registered the words. Choosing not to comment, the angel nodded.

“He’s funny.” Maurielle piped up from the angel’s other side, looking up as her nanny looked down and caught her sweet smile. “He laughs a lot, too. That’s nice.” Her lips suddenly pinched together; a sour expression made from whatever it was she considered not to say.

“He’s a bit loony.” She could not help herself.

A snort from the opposite side had Aziraphale almost look over. “A bit.” Charlie scoffed under the condensation of his breath in the air.

Aziraphale smirked at the sky. “Charlie,” she half-heartedly scolded.

“In a good way, Miss. He’s definitely loony, though.”

“Ah. That’s all well and good, then!” The angel wiggled happily at the knowledge these children would know an upbringing which involved a paternal figure heavily relevant in their lives outside of the hired staff.

“Mm,” Maurielle nodded, or more like bobbed her head. “And Nanny Judy reads to us every night!” Some burst of energy within the child had her head jolt up to focus intently on Aziraphale. “She gives the characters funny voices just like you do, Miss Fell!”

Charlie shifted on to his side to face them. “And Butler Bill always pulls coins out of our ears. You’d like him, Mum, he does that magic stuff you go on about sometimes.”

“Anyone can pull coins out of ears,” she didn’t mean it to sound the way it came out, “but I’m glad to hear he’s keeping his skills sharp.”

“And you must try Nanny Ima’s yam tarts!” Maurielle hummed as if the taste was fresh on her tongue. “Almost as good as your apple tarts, but very scrumptious!”

 _Almost_ , she couldn’t fault herself for being a little pleased at still owning the title of best. She tutted at the little girl proudly. “That was a big word used well. Very good, my dear!”

As Maurielle beamed, Charlie smirked to himself and it allowed Aziraphale to change the topic once she caught the slight decline of daylight over the sky above them, shadows in places there was not but only a moment ago.

“Sounds like this will be a perfect home, little ones. You’ve blessed me with such good news.”

Perhaps it was something she said that attributed to the long silence punctuating her comment, thick and almost prickly.

When it dawned on Aziraphale as to what the word could have been, she decided to stay silent in hopes not to invite the sensitive topic.

That _almost_ echoed back into the conversation unspoken, prompting Aziraphale to speak after all.

“Well, if your dear old Uncle Martin is as good and loony as you say he is I feel a bit terrible for leaving our dearest Crowley alone in his company back at the mansion.”

It was below the belt, Aziraphale was proud enough to admit that, but mentioning Crowley always commanded their full attention and any matter prior to mention was long forgotten.

It started with Charlie, who tuck-and-rolled with impressive strength until he was on his hands and knees and blatantly astonished at why she didn’t mention it before.

“What? This whole time? We could’a had him play with us!” His eyes lit up at what he said and exchanged a wild look with his sister before whirling those bright eyes back on Aziraphale.

“Do you think he’d…think he’d have a snowball fight with us, Miss?”

It was their fidgety wide-eyed stares that gave the angel reason to pause for dramatic effect in thoughtful contemplation of the question, only making the children twitch more.

“Can’t imagine why he wouldn’t. After all, he was the one who taught me.”

In an explosion of cheers and wiggles, Charlie launched himself up and trudged through the feet of snow as determination fueled his legs forward. That sheer determination had the boy a good distance away by the time Maurielle helped Aziraphale out of the snow with her tiny tugging. Just as they both turned to watch Charlie it was the next step that sent the boy disappearing into the depths of the snow, the decline of a hill no doubt.

The angel knew he would be okay until she made her way to help pull him out, but she was uncertain if Charlie knew that and had no time to consider it as a panicked shrill sounded from the field.

“Charlie!” Maurielle took off before Aziraphale could pull her back.

“Maurielle,” the angel sighed and started forward, “mind how you go, dear, or you’ll do the same as your—”

Once the girl disappeared into the depths to join her brother, the second shrill of fear that joined the first drew another sigh from their nanny.

“—brother.”

-:-

The children bolted through the front double-doors before Aziraphale could stop them and was left to shut the doors and hurry past one glaring maid watching the expensive rug perhaps just recently cleaned now covered in snowy chunks of dirt and leaves and wet footprints.

“So sorry about all this,” Aziraphale threw the unfortunate maid a sympathetic smile on her way down the hallway after the children, passing grand portraits of family members and exotic places to the study it was said one could always find Sir Martin Windsor.

The closer she got to the children and the study doors the distinct echoes of someone wailing – or crying in an extremely high howl-like frequency – became more alarming when she could make out the familiar lilt of Crowley’s voice. He was in there with the eccentric old uncle. Was he alright? What kind of man could make a demon to cry out in agony?

Aziraphale almost didn’t notice the children had stopped at the door in front of them, and to save from barreling into her precious angels she rolled her index fingers at her sides and neither child seemed to question a sudden force scooting them a foot in the opposite direction.

The doors opened before the angel put her hands on them, either by sheer intimidation or offering aid was immediately lost when Aziraphale all but exploded into the study and braced the amplified howls and cries of the room.

She opened her mouth and froze.

Crowley, hunched over himself in a chair on the other end of a massive cherry oak desk, had glistening streaks of tears leaking down his flushed cheekbones. One hand held the side of his face keeping his shades on as his body convulsed, the other wagging in the air holding a –

“Is that a black label brandy?”

The bottle was indeed a black labelled brandy, half full and half empty it sloshed hypnotically in the demon’s hand.

Just on the other side of the desk was a similar sight and instead of a firey headed demon was a cherry faced old man who had just recovered from throwing himself back in his chair with uproarious laughter to slap a wrinkled hand on the surface of the desk, the two university rings a size too big for his boney fingers hitting the solid wood snapped the newly arrived trio out of their stupor.

They had not even noticed Aziraphale’s grand entrance and she caught the tail-end of a jolly good story between two animated drunks.

“You—hah, you know what I said to that?” Uncle Martin boomed, a thunder coming from a man of his age would suggest his appearance was misleading. The truth in this was that no one actually knew how old the man was. The children confirmed it after spending an entire day asking every single person on the grounds from the gardener to the chimney sweeper and no one could give them a confident answer.

From some angles, he looked like a feeble old aristocrat, sometimes he appeared in his eighties and other times in his seventies, yet when he spoke, he sounded no more than forty-seven. When he spoke of glory days and wartime tales it was said he appeared as youthful as a thirty-year old man, but it could have easily been a trick of the light. Aziraphale could easily find out by digging through files upstairs, but that would have been cheating.

Crowley’s howl broke the angel from her musings as he swung back and put the chair on two legs for a few seconds before offering the bottle across the desk.

“Wot? What’yu say, y’old fool?!” Crowley could barely speak through how hard he gasped with laughter, thin chest heaving in and out, and dear King George the demon was a level of intoxicated she had not seen in quite some time.

“Paris, 1373.” She looked up to send a quick prayer, and just as quietly slid hands over the impressionable stares of the children.

Uncle Martin looked as though he was one rattling wheeze away from being nine feet under. He continued to smack the desk as he shouted, “you-you know what I said? I said…,” the pause was all genuine and not intentional, “…I said, ‘by God, Stephen, you might as well write me a _check_!”

It was Crowley’s turn to look one rattling wheeze away from being nine feet under, save for the banshee shrill laughter he was practically hanging off the corner of the desk, slinking down the side with the hand not clutching the brandy fastened around the edge for dear life.

Between manic cackles he managed certain words the angel could make out. “Hah – no, no’y didn’t—!” And the old man nodded so hard his head threatened to pop off, his hand reaching for the brandy and instead delivered good-natured smacks to Crowley’s arm.

Aziraphale sighed through her nose. This needed to end before one of them crawled on the table.

“Gentlemen?”

Heads swiveled in her direction and when their eyes focused both old demons had the audacity to appear startled by her sudden intrusion.

“Awk—Azngel!” Crowley squawked fondly, shifting like goo across the corner and tilted his head up. “Marvelous timin…’ave you met Martin?” Aziraphale waited through the delay with straining patience as Crowley’s hand finally threw a thumb over his shoulder, cooing at the small splatter of brandy he caused with all his lanky flailing about.

He smacked his lips loud enough to make Aziraphale blink.

“Grreat guy over’ere.” Oh dear, if Crowley was this pissed, she could only imagine the damage done to the poor elderly human…?

“And impressive lad you have here, young lady. No man has kept up with me and my brandy for decades!” His voice thundered across his study yet what was more shocking was the lack of slur in his voice, no indication he was as cross-eyed as Crowley at the moment.

“No _man_ ,” the serpent hiccupped, cheek pressing up against the wood’s smooth surface, “’Angel, c’mere—”

“Ah- _hem_!” Aziraphale had let this show go on for too long! “A more appropriate conversation for the _children_ in the room, if you please, gentlemen?” Habits stuck to children like paste especially at ages in the realm of Charlie and Maurielle’s. She’d know who to give a good knuckle-thump should she catch Charlie in the cough syrup.

Fortunately for Crowley he was a clever demon who could read a room better than anyone she knew, and being unrestrained by the laws of physics was able to impress Aziraphale with how fast he could drain some of the alcohol in his system without anyone noticing. A new record.

“Quite right you are, ma’am.” Crowley’s smile broke a measurable chunk of irritation from the angel’s mood, enough to receive a small smirk of gratitude which lifted his smile a little higher. He still looked like a homeless beggar with his mussed hair and wrinkled clothing.

Uncle Martin looked well-tailored and not a single silver-white hair out of place as he swept his hand across the air in a grand gesture and a broad smile. “Caught me strolling down memory lane, this one did,” he wagged a bent finger at Crowley, which soon ended in a playful swat like they had known each other forever.

“Sir Crowley!” Charlie covered his hands over his nanny’s and lowered them to his chin, gripping hers firmly as he mustered the confidence to ask, “you – are you – snowball fight? With us?”

If only the children knew how much it meant to Crowley when someone else brought up one of his skills, even if it pertained to throwing balls of snow at people. But angels were taught to enjoy all the little things, and perhaps demons were too.

“Well…I _am_ rather good. Suppose I could….” His mind was already made up but he was a sucker for the dramatics.

Charlie played into it. “You must! With you, we can get back at the Brüger Boys from down the lane! One of’em pulled Elle’s hair the other day!”

“Yeah!” Maurielle chanted.

Aziraphale let out a choked scoff, taken completely aback by this information.

“Hold on, I thought this was for wholesome sport, not some plight for retaliation…?”

Crowley saw his opportunity and pounced on it with a swing of his long body off the chair, slinking toward them proudly.

“Say no more, lad. Grab my coat’n we’ll head out—”

“H-Hold on!” Aziraphale, gawking like a fish out of water, turned around to watch the small parade of cheering siblings frolicking behind a marching Crowley.

“Can’t hear you, mum! Be back for supper!” Just as he thought she was out of reach she could faintly make out a, “and go find some rocks, we’ll stuff’em inside each ball—”

“Now wait a minute!” Aziraphale held a handout and was stopped by a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder before she could go after them. A rattling chuckle had the angel turn to see a wise grin just over her shoulder. A hunched old tree root, this Martin Windsor, but a keen eye could see the man was a sturdy as an ox.

“They’ll come back with bruised pride before broken skin, though I’m sure they’ll be fine all the same, my dear.” The sound of his deep chuckles was like a soothing balm for her nerves, and she felt her body relax into the comforting hand.

With that said, Aziraphale turned around in anticipating finding out more about this eccentric, loony aristocrat. As his reputation proceeded him, he was also the same eccentric, loony aristocrat who stepped up to the responsibility of caring for the orphaned Windsor children, sharing his time, money, and attention to their future when he had no obligation to. It deserved her blessing, and more so her endless gratitude. However, when the angel motioned forward as if to bow to the old man, she froze in shock at the sight of him bowing to her.

If there ever were a perfect expression of gratitude, this man showed it on his face.

“Thank you for looking after them, Miss Fell. Your name is infamous in these halls, you know?” She didn’t. “All fantastic things, very wonderful. I may know more about you than I do my own nephew and his wife. You’ve certainly made more of an impression on them than their own parents.”

She was never so arrogant as to assume more than what she was certain; she knew they loved her, she could feel the waves emanating from them constantly, but to be spoken of in third person was a warm feeling in her chest that crinkled her chin in a wobbly smile.

“Sounds to me like those two were blessed to have you.”

If he only knew how literal that statement was, and the spooky way he phrased it made her question, only briefly, if he somehow did.

A sweet smile was her only reply, and as she folded her arms in front of her the old timer moved faster than she gave him credit for, blinking down at her arm now linked through the bend of his. If his back were not as hunched, he would have been a few inches taller than her.

He sidled up next to her with a wily look that meant nothing good. “What would you say to some…cocoa and crepes? The brandy’s got me feeling peckish enough to sneak about the kitchens!”

It was official. Martin was Aziraphale’s friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! Again lol. 
> 
> Crowley needs to make one more stop before time moves forward. More familiar faces to come! Let me know what you think in the comments! I will be finding time to thank you guys each very soon! <3


	37. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it T_T the final chapter. I don't mean to get soggy, but I gotta say this story - and with the amazing support from readers; fanart, comments, kudos, bookmarks - has gotten me through one tough year. The longest story I've ever written and finished. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!!

_~ One Week Later ~_

Crowley always found it funny when a person’s given name came with an ironic twist. Take for instance the nurse currently grounding him to the floor with a hard stare, twice as fierce given that one eye was doing all the work while the other remained hidden behind an eyepatch.

For a name like Minnie – and he meant this with the least possible offense – there was nothing _mini_ about her.

He could not help but respect the stoic and stony nature of this nurse-grandmother human currently looking at him as though at any moment she would clear the front desk and throttle him in the very lobby he stood, surrounded by other onlooking humans.

It was a small lobby, comfortable enough size, but it also guaranteed a free show and that thought slightly panicked Crowley.

He was a demon, for Satan’s sake! Humans should cower in fear at the mere thought of being in his presence! The thought, though overblown, puffed the serpent’s chest a little with the right amount of confidence he needed to stand up for himself.

Crowley straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “I’m here for—”

“State your reason.”

Once the shock wore off, irritation filled the empty space. His eyebrow twitched, yet he spoke slow and steady. “Yes, I was about to tell you—”

“Appointment or walk-in?”

The demon blanched, paused, glanced behind him and looked back at the nurse. “I walked in, yes. Why does that…?”

“Walk-Ins are by availability only.”

One breath, two breath, look at his shoes, three breath, try again. Crowley was certain that was the correct steps Aziraphale had taught him. It worked enough for the lanky demon to relax and give the rough old woman a tight-lipped smile.

“Let’s start over. I’m here to see Dr. Copper—”

“So are they.” Minnie nodded toward the people quietly watching them in the small lobby, turning away to look at nothing when Crowley swiveled his head with a sneer.

He looked back at the nurse. “Yes, however—”

“What makes you so special, sunshine?”

“Sunshine.” Crowley’s lips twitched on their own accord. This was Hell, not that dungeony shithole downstairs, oh no. _This_ was Hell.

“Look here, you miserable—” _one breath, two breath, look at your sodding shoes, Crowley,_ “—I was told to specifically request him by a _name only_ appointment.” He ground each word between gnashed teeth, the smile he was trying pitifully to hold up must have appeared haunting when she quirked one silver-black eyebrow.

Her chair shifted back only an inch, and Crowley immediately regretted bowing up to this woman.

He back-peddled his words faster than his feet to put more distance between him and the desk. “Go tell him! Tell him Anthony Crowley is here to see him!”

Crowley was a prideful demon, but even he had to admit he raised an arm over his face and braced himself for a throttling. When an iron grip latched onto his forearm it ripped a high-pitched cry from the demon.

“Anthony. Crowley. Oh, lambchop, why didn’t you say who you was before!”

Crowley peered over his hand to confirm this was the same stocky nurse who eyed him like a pesky fly was now cooing and hovering over him like a concerned mother hen, her grip like steel but she was somehow gentle with ushering him behind the desk to the side door.

“L-Lambchop?” Was all he could say, the hand not immobilized in her hold reached up to keep his top hat from falling.

“Don’t you worry’bout it, sweet muffin.” Who was this woman?? “I’ve heard a’lottabout you, Lord Crowley. So nice t’see Thaddeus making friends. Such a busy lad, that one is, gonna work himself to his grave, that one will….”

Nurse Minnie’s words spun in front of Crowley’s eyes until his stomach lurched, though his nausea may have been from being jerked around by this woman like a ragdoll. She pushed him through the side door into an obvious doctor’s office; cot and chair on one side, posters of anatomy and framed certifications lined the white sterile walls – significantly cleaner than most Crowley had ever encountered.

“You just sit right there, you delectable bite, Thaddeus will be in shortly. He’s just finished his last appointment.”

Crowley fixed his top-hat as he strolled to the chair, and immediately tripped over his own feet when he registered what the nurse said.

No sooner had the demon turned to gawk, a stinging pressure on his left butt-cheek had him jolting forward, body going ramrod straight, letting out an appalled squeak.

Her dirty old giggle followed her out of the room to disappear once the door latched shut, leaving him in a flustered stupor. Finally uncoiling from that mess, Crowley took two wobbly steps back and flopped into the chair once the seat caught the back of his knees.

_Well, that was a thing._

“Well, that was a thing.”

Crowley jerked his head up, for a split second wondering if it came from him before he caught the sudden appearance of someone standing by a door on the opposite side of the room, a worn towel wrapped around damp hands and an amused expression behind an impressive barstool mustache.

“Copper!” Crowley folded himself a little as if caught underdressed. He quickly relaxed. “How long’ve you been there?”

“Long enough to see Minnie has taken to you. That’s rare.” Thaddeus strode toward him, placing the towel on the examination table in the middle of the room as he stopped and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest and appearing, dare Crowley say it, affectionate.

Crowley choked down the knot in his throat and deflected. “Interesting one, your head nurse.” He nodded to the door she exited, lowering his spectacles down the bridge of his nose so he could emphasize his point with a firm look.

It pulled a loud laugh from the doctor. “Yes, that’s Minnie for you. Best midwife in the city, delivered all my children.” He paused. “She even delivered me and my siblings.”

“Charming.” Crowley nodded slowly, sitting back with a tense expression. “A real gem, that Minnie.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. You’ll get more than just a pinch.”

Crowley suppressed a shiver, and with one last glare at the shut door he glanced around taking in the room where Copper conducted business.

“Big office. Get a lot of patients?”

“Sometimes too many, but that’s a luxury in this industry I can’t afford to gripe about. Business is income, and it’s nice to see people starting to care about their health.” Copper, always the patient soul, the resilient healer, spoke without a trace of frustration and all gratitude.

Humans, especially the good ones, had a tendency to blip out of existence far too quick for Crowley’s liking. He never learned after the prior instance, but there was something about this humble physician that prodded a hopeful feeling in the serpent’s chest. Perhaps he would see the doctor again someday, though not on the same side, and memories never did translate over after death so they often fluttered away like ribbons, but even as a stuffy pigeon with a stale linear personality it would be nice to see what kind of angel Copper would make.

“Anthony.”

“How long’ve I been staring at your pant leg?” Crowley asked, dazedly, as he continued to stare unblinking at the same fixed point.

“Long enough to know you didn’t come here to comment on the décor in my office.” Clever doctor, Crowley nodded in agreement, but remained quiet in waiting.

Seconds ticked by until a whole two minutes passed between the demon and the doctor. If Copper was bothered by the silence, he never showed it.

“Anthony.”

“Hm?”

Copper stared. He shifted a little against the table’s edge and rolled his mustache thoughtfully.

“Is this a social visit? I have two other appointments after this, we could grab a pint after I finish up if you’re still in the area.”

Crowley liked the sound of that, and it distracted him from the bigger question at play. He laid his palms over his knees with soft smacks and grinned devilishly. “Great idea!”

A few mutual nods, and the room went silent again. Crowley was the first to fidget under the weight, squirming a little in his seat while he wondered if this was what humans did at a physician’s clinic. The awkward silence was a little nerve-wracking, but he didn’t see what all the fuss was about—

“ _Anthony._ ”

“What?” Crowley said, somewhat exasperated, when he could not figure out the reason behind his friend’s strange stare.

Copper pushed off the table and strode toward Crowley slowly, arms still folded as calculating hazel eyes squinted speculatively over the demon from his top hat to the points of his leather boots. The air shifted at some point between them Crowley couldn’t say for certain when, but it caused his eyes to glance around the room hastily as if nervous to meet the doctor’s stare.

“Starting to see why humans don’t like coming to these places.” Crowley griped, hissing as his body portrayed the discomfort he felt.

For a moment it looked like Copper had no idea what to make of the statement, but as soon as a thought dawned over him, he was already in full Doctor Mode; coming to a kneel, Copper propped his weight on his elbow perched on top of one knee, his other hand reaching up to adjust his spectacles.

He was all seriousness when he spoke. “Do you need medical attention? What’s happened?” He squinted again, something on Crowley’s face catching his attention. “Your sclera’s are looking much better. Good to see you are keeping up with them.”

Crowley was a fool if he thought the front desk altercation with Nurse Minnie was Hell. This was another level; where your friend stands extremely close to you and stares at all the small details of your corporation.

“Thaddeus,” Crowley leaned back good-naturedly and replied, “if this is what your profession entails, I should rethink my negative outlook on my own job.”

“A healthy decision, my friend.” Copper fed into the jab cleverly. “Good for the soul.”

Clever bastard. But back to more pressing matters. “As thrilling as this is, I can’t help but ask if this was the reason I needed to seek you out in nine months?”

Copper pulled back, switching his attention from Crowley’s serpent eyes to examine his whole face. An array of different emotions danced across the man’s hardened features; bewilderment turned to shock, and finally settled on astonished joy. Joy?

When the doctor opened his mouth, nothing came out and Crowley’s head nearly bobbed while he watched the man’s lips open and close.

“Anthony,” Copper sounded like someone – or Crowley – had just knocked the wind out of him, “that is…that’s _fantastic_!”

“Wot?” Crowley said despite himself because the animated way Copper reacted made him do things without thinking, like throwing a gloved hand over the excited clap of the doctor’s strong hand on his shoulder and mimicking the man’s shaky squeeze.

“Anthony, this is amazing news!” Copper shot to his feet in a blur, lifting the demon out of his chair as if he weighed nothing and the proud claps of enthusiasm rattled his thin frame. Love, pure and flaming hot surges of the stuff, speared the serpent from all directions. Red hot pokers, they ignited his body leaving him squirming underneath the other man’s jubilee.

“Never been this accurate before, a bit proud of myself for that one. On the nose with the timing, but Anthony, my boy, congratulations!”

Crowley nearly cried out in equal amount of shock and pain at being on the receiving end of a rare and never before seen grin from the normally calm and collected physician. This man beamed brighter than the stars he created; millions of degrees hotter was what it felt like but being the masochist he was could not help but return the man’s excitement with a wobbly smirk.

“C-Congratulations…?”

“Of course! Don’t listen to those stuffy conservatives who frown on anything outside of wedlock, they lack the capacity to admire human nature. And – ” something he said at that moment nearly launched him back a good foot, “—this is a scientific revelation. Biblical, rather? You’re not…and neither is she… _fascinating_.”

“I don’t speak doctor, Thaddeus.” Crowley felt the need to remind the starstruck doctor, leaning back once more when the hands on his shoulders squeezed tighter. “The heaven are you on about?”

“Not important,” Copper dismissed it with a shake of his head, “should have known, what with all the obvious symptoms—”

“Symptoms? What symptoms?”

The doctor released one calloused hand to wave over Crowley’s height. “How nervous you were walking in here, the stuttering, impulsive agitation—”

Crowley blinked and huffed, clearly offended. “Was not nervous…how can anyone _not_ be with her running the front desk.”

“Minnie is a class-act with the expecting mothers, I promise you Miss Fell will be in the best care London has to offer. Worked under the Queen, those hands have been knighted—”

“Wot?!” There were a lot of words spoken which sounded flashing sirens in the demon’s overworked brain. He wiggled out of Copper’s hold and righted his rumpled coat, looking aghast.

“You’re nervous. That’s normal. Man or… expecting Fathers experience their fair share of stress during maternity as well.”

“Maternity.” Where had the demon heard that word before…? Scanning the recesses of his brain, he found nothing until he was reminded of the only entity who came close to familiarizing that word. He may have not had a mother in a very, _very_ long time, but he remembered enough to throw himself in the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Yes, which it sounds like we are getting to the final stages of yours. I will need to know who Miss Fell has been seeking treatment from and pick up from there. Let her know the morning of Thursday the fifteenth, nine o’clock sharp. If I need to make a house call, just say the word.”

Aziraphale…seeking treatment? For what? Had his angel been seeking medical attention for an ailment of some sort? Was he supposed to know about this? Was he _not_ supposed to know about this? Given their history, it shouldn’t have been so surprising to be constantly on one’s toes when him and Aziraphale were so used to the same millennia-old dance around each other.

But this was serious, and just how many serious things went unspoken between them? All these infernal questions.

“I know you must have questions.” Perfect timing as always, this man. “It’s written all over your face.” Spooky-good timing. “But rest assured, as patients and friends, you both will be given the best attention and care here….”

Copper finally seemed to catch on to Crowley’s panicked expression, hearing the silent plea for something, anything, to grasp onto, the doctor made a cautious gesture and took a step back.

“…do you understand what’s happening right now?”

The tall demon nodded slowly, very uncertain, and said, “…maternity.”

“Oh good lord.” It was not a jeering or demeaning comment, but it sounded as though the doctor had stumbled onto an astronomical truth he had no idea what to do with. All the excitement in the room bled away leaving the air thick and itchy.

Before Crowley knew what was happening, he was being guided back into the chair he was yanked from earlier, watching dumbly as the physician sat on the cot adjacent to the chair. His back hunched forward, Copper leaned forward with the assistance of his forearms resting on his knees, hands entwined together at the fingers so he could prop his chin on top.

He stared forward, jaw moving as he chewed nothing. “Needed a moment for that.” He finally nodded, snapping out of his daze to meet Crowley’s naïve stare with a confident inhale through his nostrils.

Copper never looked more like a father than he did now. It was almost rehearsed. Almost. Would have been perfect, no doubt, if Crowley were a human. He could see the gears churning in the that machine he called a brain.

“Excuse me if I use terms from human anatomy, however from a professional observation I am going to ask you a question. As your physician, I expect your honesty.”

So Copper was Crowley’s physician all of a sudden? Crowley wasn’t sure to place that title in the order of importance and status. Should he send him a telegram every holiday? Take him out to dinner?

“…okay, sure.” He nodded slowly.

It was a few more minutes needed for the doctor to gather his wits and with a readjustment of his spectacles up the bridge of his nose he blurted out, “in your realms of existence…is there,” he exhaled through his nostrils, “are there such things – things, Christ – are you, and her, you both,” it was starting to hurt watching the doctor stall this bad.

“Just rip the bandage off, Thaddeus.”

He got him back for that rebuttal from earlier, and a little light humor appeared to be much needed for the man to get through this.

“Reproduction. Reproducing.” He tried different forms of the same word a few more times before stopping. “I’m not usually squeamish with this subject, but I was raised Roman Catholic. You understand.” Crowley conceded to the point made with an agreed nod.

Copper continued, his voice once more all seriousness as he said, “there are signs, symptoms, which can determine this. Over these past nine months, has your lady experienced weight gain?”

“Thaddeus, the gall—”

“Professional observation, Anthony….”

“Alright, alright,” to be honest, Crowley never noticed things like someone’s weight unless requested to pick them out of a crowd. “No, maybe a little gained, a little lost, normal stuff.”

“I see.” Another heavy pause. “Erratic mood swings?” He waved his head in a _so-so_ fashion; his angel was a fussy thing. “Hot flashes?” It sounded like something Aziraphale would be going through under Crowley’s lecherous ministrations in the rumpled sheets of his bed. Without thinking he nodded.

“That’s one.” Wait, what? Copper ignored his wild expression. “Increased appetite, eating more than the recommended daily servings?”

 _Oh my Satan._ He put a hand to his mouth and didn’t need to say anything for Copper to find his answer written on his face.

“She’s eating for two.”

“For _two_?” Crowley almost screeched. “For who!?”

“For the child.” Copper almost seemed excited to torture Crowley with this news.

“What _child_?!” He was going to lose it.

“ _Your_ child.”

“ _What_?!” The howl was almost too high-pitched for human ears. Copper startled as a nearby glass window cracked in three places.

“This is…not good news?”

Was it? Should it be – oh, Crowley’s brain was shutting down, he could feel the neurons one by one self-destructing.

“…I think you should sit down.”

Was he standing? He thought he had been seated this entire time. Oh well, if his corporation _were_ to be shutting down at least he was at the right place. Another wave of reality hit him, nearly knocking him to the ground but he couldn’t just lay here and rot, not when Aziraphale was out there braving… _maternity_ , while he just frolicked through these last months without a care!

“Oh _Sssatan_ , I’m such an idiot!” Crowley grabbed his head with both hands, knocking his top hat off to fall forgotten to the floor. His glasses askew over the bridge of his sharp nose, he looked downright mad and rightfully justified.

A child. A child with Aziraphale. Half-demon, half-angel, it was…it was….

“I have to go.”

Copper started forward, looking as though he had no idea what to do with his raised hands. He floundered for something to say before defaulting to a more collected state. “Is she alright? Do you need me to come with you?”

“No! Yes, I mean, the other way’round – ngk, _fuck_ , I need to tell her!” In a wobbly mess of noodles, Crowley flew across the room, hands outstretched for the door handle and on a mission.

“Tell her?” The doctor huffed. “Anthony, I’m sure she has a good idea already—”

“Ha!” The bark-screech startled the doctor away from Crowley’s manic movements, his face twisted in hysteria he must have looked like a true demon, a demon scared out of his mind, but a real one, nonetheless.

“Oh no, not Aziraphale. Not—not _really_ , if you catch my drift?” His laughter was a hyperventilating fit of wheezes, but he couldn’t stall a moment longer. At any moment Aziraphale would realize what had just dawned on Crowley, and if his projections were as accurate as they always were he should have been at the bookshop _days_ ago.

“Anthony, hold on! Are you sure she’s actually pregnant? Perhaps it would be best not to barrel into the room, what with the state you’re in. Hysterical.”

“Much needed advice, thank you!” And just as Crowley was leaving, he heard the doctor’s comment just as it slipped through the closing door.

“I know a priest if you need a baptism performed—”

“Oh, fuck off!”

_~Twenty-Two Years Later~_

Aziraphale never had a favorite restaurant until almost exactly one year ago a lovely little place opened on Piccadilly Street in St. James’s, a delightfully short venture from his bookshop. As if the entire experience were ineffable, one bite of the first flaky, buttery morsel had Aziraphale falling helplessly in ecstasy as the rich flavors made love to his palate.

The spectacle was indeed as erotic as it sounded, so much so Crowley nearly caught the table on fire.

Since then, for every special – or not – occasion it was ultimately decided there would be no more perfect a place than The Ritz. Whether to conduct secret meetings with a certain adversary, recruit human spies for his heavenly biddings, or celebrate a job well done with wonderfully wily company, the restaurant stuck to Aziraphale like a new coat he wouldn’t dream of changing for a long time.

“Ah…Mr. Fell?”

So enraptured in the last bite of his angel cake, Aziraphale nearly startled when he realized how far from reality he’d been and wondered for how long when his company seated on the other side of the table watched him as if he were an amusement on display. The thought pinked his cheeks somewhat and had him raising his hand to dab at the corners of his lips with the crinkled napkin he had been holding.

He quickly swallowed his bite and met the twinkling blue eyes across the table, youthful and familiar it was a sweet sight that told Aziraphale he was not in the company of someone that would judge him for his overindulgences.

“Apologies, my dear.” He chuckled behind his hand, his eyes showing the smile hiding behind the napkin. “One more of these delicious cakes and I will simply lose myself in this establishment.”

A song played at the table in the form of his company’s laughter, a flute-play so lovely and it was no one’s surprise the owner of such a pretty sound would look so fitting; trading in etiquette for freedom of expression, the young woman tipped her head back and shook her shoulders, holding up a soft fist to her painted lips in an attempt to pull herself back in.

When she laughed, the curls trailing from her bun danced excitedly. Aziraphale could not stop himself from joining in with a few breathy chuckles himself.

“No apologies needed, Mr. Fell.” A soft smile and tilt of her head made her appear as though she were posing for a portrait, it came naturally for her. “Always a pleasant sight when one feels comfortable in another’s company to enjoy their meal to the fullest.”

“I could not agree more!” Aziraphale chirped proudly, more for the knowledge that he had said those exact words so many years ago and heard them echo back to him.

“It also makes me wonder what it’s like during a holiday dinner at the Fell family house,” the young woman giggled as she pushed her plate to the far edge of the table absentmindedly, and Aziraphale stole a quick observant glance at her features.

She was a spitting image of her mother, or would have been if it were not for the complete absence of a judgmental scowl, and unlike her mother’s cold hard calculating stare this woman’s inherited ocean blue eyes twinkled as though the sun shined in them every day, warm and welcoming to any they glanced upon.

Almost a spitting image, but just as painfully beautiful. And thankfully, she did not inherit her mother’s taste for gold and teal patterns.

“And I should thank you for this wonderful afternoon, Mr. Fell. My, I should be thanking you for so much!” The woman leaned forward and rested the flat of her hands across the tablecloth in front of her, eyes pegging the angel with an arrow of genuine sincerity through his heart.

For only a second, she flashed a look to her left at a small wooden box before continuing, “for phoning me, for…the letters.”

Fidgety fingers were a telltale sign for the gir—woman, and Aziraphale knew immediately that she was chewing on something she was too uncertain to say.

“No need to thank me, my dear. You answered and made yourself available in that busy schedule of yours to meet me here. That is all the thanks I need.” They had given each other a plethora of different smiles since they first sat down. In a strange way, it was just like sitting down with a loved one for a game of catch up over the years. Compared to the reality, however, it didn’t actually feel all that strange.

What was strange was that Aziraphale wasn’t here to be Miss Fell. He was Mr. Fell. Her surviving nephew.

He felt like an imposter and tried to brush the itchy thought away before it stuck to his skin. The woman in front of him was the same person she had always been. Older, wiser, mature, but the same. And while that was an odd truth, the angel wasn’t so sure who was being wronged more; the woman or the angel.

Because while he sat here and gazed upon memories between them, he would not get to recount them as he wanted to. No, that would be suspicious. Stories were stories, but perfectly detailed facts were dangerously risky.

Nature of the business, dealing with mortal humans.

When he focused his attention back on the woman, he blinked curiously at the mirthful expression on her face.

“Pardon?” Did he miss something?

“Nothing…it’s just,” her lips soured for a bit, and she couldn’t help herself, “it’s uncanny how much you resemble her…”

Aziraphale tried not to show how the tension stilled his body as his eyes widened like a petrified deer. He couldn’t bring himself to enact a divine persuasion or manipulate her Free Will in any way. It was a tool, never a weapon unless absolutely necessary and not in situations such as these. It was not only cheating; it was a question of loyalty and trust even if the person wasn’t aware of it happening.

“Oh, that’s very nice of you to say, haha.” He needed to channel some nonchalance very quick or this was going to spiral. “We-we Fells have some resilient genes, I’d say!” About as smooth as a cobblestone street in London, but it was best he could do in short time.

“I’d say.” The little smirk was more ‘sly feline’ than the facetious kitten it used to be, but there was no mistaking it.

Speaking of, the moment Aziraphale’s eyes caught the shimmer of twinkling diamond the angel had to purse his lips from yelping in joy…and also because _goodness_ , what a rock!

A hand spread across his chest and mouth open in dramatic fashion, Aziraphale danced between her left ring finger and back to her owlish expression, appearing as scandalized as one could to swerve the conversation.

“Maurielle Windsor, you never said you were betrothed. And a fine betrothment at that.” His eyes squinted at the brilliant display of diamonds and intricately carved band. He watched the scarlet spread over her porcelain complexion, mouth forming a small o-shape as her chin wrinkled with an oncoming laugh.

“Oh! Ah, my mind has been elsewhere it seems!” Now feeling a bit bolder, she extended her hand to the middle of the table, rotating her fingers a little so rays of light could catch upon the smooth edges of the diamond. “It is rather…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say _loud_ , but your word is a much nicer way of putting it.” Maurielle chuckled and didn’t look up from her hands resting in front of her.

“He’s a good man.” A thoughtful pause. “Sweet, polite. I think Miss Fell would have approved.”

Another thoughtful pause, this time from Aziraphale who watched quietly with softened eyes. If she noticed him looking it didn’t seem to bother her.

_What an impression you’ve made, old boy._

Thankfully, an unlikely savior rescued Aziraphale from his internal conflicts; a strapping young waiter, no doubt his first day, appearing between them however turned to face Maurielle. When the young man had placed the bill in front of Aziraphale was a mystery, because he had not received a shred of acknowledgment from the waiter.

“Was the meal to your liking, ma’am?” He leaned a little into the table, which leaned a little with him. The angel did not have to see the lad’s face to know he was giving his company a charming smile.

Maurielle, with all the patience of a saint, tipped her head politely and smiled. “Yes, it was all very delicious, thank you.”

It left no room for further conversation, so the waiter squeezed out another attempt as Aziraphale secretly miracled the money in the fold with the bill.

“That’s wonderful to hear. If there’s _anything_ you – er, or your father,” he nudged his head back in the angel’s direction, “– anything at all that you need, please let me know. It would be my pleasure.”

Poor lad. Aziraphale made a little sympathetic pout at the back of his head, knowing Maurielle would see and get a kick out of it. She almost broke into laughter but remained so resolved it would have made her mother proud.

“Actually,” she started with a false timidness and a flutter of her lashes, “there _is_ something.” Aziraphale was not quite sure if it were him or Crowley that taught her dramatic pauses, but he was too awestruck by her performance to ponder further. She continued right after the waiter leaned in, hopeful and eager. “I believe my _father_ is trying to hand you payment. If you would be so kind…?”

Dumbfounded, the waiter floundered and whipped his head over one shoulder to see Aziraphale smiling dearly with a hand up and a paid envelope perched neatly in his palm.

Sputtering formalities trailed behind the flustered waiter as he left the table, and once they were sure he was out of earshot both Maurielle and Mr. Fell broke out in a fit of laughter, scootching out of their chairs and making for the door like a pair of old friends.

-:-

The inherited mansion from dear old Uncle Martin Windsor appeared no different than the day Aziraphale saw it almost two decades ago. The vast estate looked polished and well kept, the landscaping accentuating the love and care put into the Windsor home.

Aziraphale went no further than the grand entry hall, eyes quietly roaming around familiar walls with unfamiliar paintings and portraits, new furniture in new places.

“Thank you for taking me home, Mr. Fell.” The instant Maurielle entered the comfort of her home she was more relaxed and giddy than the proper lady he had just shared lunch with earlier. She kicked her shoes off by the door and in a twirl of her dress she turned and faced Aziraphale with a darling smile, her soft warm hands covering the back of the angel’s larger ones holding the small wooden box.

“Of course, dear. And thank you for a lovely time—”

A door from the far left was thrown open, and in came a baritone shout that near rattled the fragile fine arts around them. Aziraphale looked up just as the newcomer boomed across the room.

“Elle? There you are! Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?” A gentleman, somewhere in his early thirties at least, came marching up to them. He would have appeared intimidating if it were not for the way he fussed and fuddled with his tie, tugging the poorly made knot loose and starting over. His eyes briefly crossed over themselves in his attempt to look straight down while walking toward them.

There was something extremely familiar about this man.

Maurielle rolled her eyes and they ended on Aziraphale with an exasperated look.

“I told you when I would be back.”

The man stopped very close to Maurielle, looking down at her and also his tie with a pinched expression.

“The Prime Minister will be here in thirty minutes, Elle. And’ere you come in right when the man is about t’show up!” Aziraphale had to bite back a huff of laughter when he caught the way the lad jumbled his words and raised the tone of his voice when he was nervous.

 _He’s not a lad anymore, Angel_. Sometimes his inner voice sounded like Crowley. He never really knew why.

“Yes, and I’m here now, standing next to the gentlemen that was so gracious enough to take me to lunch at The Ritz.”

When Charlie registered what she said, the protective glare he threw at Aziraphale made the angel equal parts proud and frightened.

Maurielle caught it quickly and explained with waving hands. “ _Charlie_ , this is Miss Fell’s nephew. Ah,” she looked to Aziraphale quickly before glancing back up at her brother, “Mr. Fell.”

Like night and day, the man’s expression flipped from closed off and defensive to bright and welcoming. He brushed past his sister and caught the hand Aziraphale quickly threw out, and the angel was caught off guard by the strength in his grip, not only that but it was controlled, respectful, and sincere as Charlie laid another hand on the angel’s forearm.

Charlie was a blend of his mother and father; the broad build of his father yet inherited certain angles from his mother that made for one very handsome man. The angel felt a soft wave of love cascade over him then, coming from Maurielle and Charlie as if they wrapped a heated blanket around his shoulders.

“Mr. Fell! My apologies for stomping in here. My sister has a habit of bending time when it suits her,” he threw a dirty look over his shoulder and Maurielle pinched her lips in rebuttal, “but thank you for your hospitality. We’re more than grateful for the box of letters. May I?” It was so like Charlie to not contain his excitement for long and go head first; pulling his fingers free of his knotted tie he plucked the box from Aziraphale’s waiting hands to hold it gingerly.

“Don’t worry, dear boy. It won’t break.”

Charlie looked bashful for a brief moment before opening the box and started leafing through handwritten letters. He let out a slow breah, as if discovering the treasures of a sacred tomb.

“Look, Elle. It’s her handwriting’n everything. The ones we never got.” Charlie held it up like an excited young boy, the power of his grin too strong for Maurielle to fight back a soft smile.

“ _Wow_ ,” the elder Windsor sibling shook his head fondly, “these are wonderful. I can’t wait to read these to Julianna. My daughter.”

 _Daughter_.

Charlie Windsor was a father. _Easy, old boy_. Aziraphale took a deep breath to will away the burn of oncoming tears ready at the edges of his eyes.

“That’s so…that’s so sweet.” The angel almost cursed his voice for breaking and masked it well behind a soft coo. He should have known these two were much too clever for their own good.

“Mr. Fell, are you alright?” Maurielle started forward, and thankfully Charlie interrupted her with a frustrated curse.

“Elle, can you help me with this _sodding_ tie?” Aziraphale had to bite his bottom lip to keep from calling out the boy for language. “I’d ask Lilian, but she’s with Julianna and she just put her down for a nap, you’re much better at this than—”

“If it will stop that chatterbox of a mouth, then yes, Brother, gladly.”

Aziraphale found his opportunity and reluctantly pursued it with two quiet steps toward the front door. If he stayed any longer, it wouldn’t look kindly on him. _Not like that_ , he could hear Crowley scolding him now _, you’re the only person you have something to prove to. But don’t do something at their expense, you know this._

Damn Crowley and his moments of eternal wisdom and clarity. He was right; no matter how many times Aziraphale had tried to sever ties there was always a memento found that must be delivered, always a hired spy to keep him updated every so years.

This would be his closure. It was bittersweet, but seeing Charlie and Maurielle Windsor grown up, successful, but more importantly _happy_ , was just what he needed to sooth the ache in his heart.

 _Thank you_ , he sent a quiet prayer in thanks to the ceiling, and looked back to see both Windsor’s giving him curious looks.

“I must be off, now. The next train will be leaving soon.”

Maurielle looked hesitant, and started to motion forward but the gentle touch of her brother’s fingers on the bend of her arm stopped her. After a few seconds, she joined her brother’s caring gaze.

“We will never forget her.” Charlie said it in a way that made the angel almost envious of his blissful unawareness of just who he was saying that to. “She came into our lives when we needed it most, and for that she will always be a member of the Windsor family.”

Aziraphale felt lightheaded all of a sudden, and it was unheard of that an angel would feel overpowered by the sheer intensity of unconditional love emanating from these two.

The angel shared one last embrace with each of them, tipped his hat to them at the front door, and turned to walk down the pathway back to the automobile waiting for him down in the driveway.

The driver, upon the insistence of one serpent of Eden who pledged he was not trying to hover, only interested in trying out the latest innovative shift in transportation, was currently waiting patiently in the vehicle.

For whatever reason his dear serpent had for being here was beside the point entirely, because the second he climbed into the automotive machine he would spend the next decade trying to help mend his angel’s heart.

The poor thing, Aziraphale would have to thank him. He had been trying to convince the angel of all that holy water fuss again, maybe he could consider it further in the next few decades.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of my readers, thank you all so much for reading and enjoying my story. I may write side-pieces and one-shots if anyone would like to see more :3 
> 
> This will also give me more time to go through and respond to all of your amazing comments!
> 
> Also, I hoped the doctor's visit was to your likings hahaha it was a treat to write <333 
> 
> Thank you!


	38. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm making my way through these wonderful comments to thank you wonderful readers, I felt inspired for oooone more little bit. 
> 
> And for those of whom who are wondering if this is the awkward pregnant/baby/maternity skit between Crowley and Aziraphale...this is not that unfortunately...not yet :3
> 
> But! This bit does hint at something, something possible and yet too soon to tell. I hope you all enjoy the epilogue <3
> 
> WARNINGS: strong language, gross (but toned down) depictions of mutilation, references to torture, and (playful warning for yall: slight hints/references to maggot husbands :P )

Ligur didn’t mind the Pits so much. The dank, muddy, dungeony-maze of a place that it was did have it’s allure, even if one found it damn-near impossible to sort out their thoughts proper in this place what with the endless chorus of agonizing wails filling the poorly-lit halls, coming from the millions upon millions of tortured souls. In fact, if Ligur concentrated enough, the melodies of pain and suffering actually made for the perfect setting for his meditations. He would have to revisit that idea.

But Ligur was not here for himself, not because he fibbed on some reports and slacked off on training and subjected to the hellish fury of their tiny dark prince’s wrath.

A wet sloppy sound brought blue-turning-green eyes to the right just in time to see a slimy goop drip from one of the large rotten stalagmites hanging dangerously from the ceiling above. He looked at the splatter with a bored expression, his chameleon not bothered enough even for a glance.

“Look at that.” With equal boredom, Ligur’s yellow-orange eyes blinked to his left and quirked a brow at the sight of Hastur’s deeply agitated face scrunched in distress. One hand clenched the handle of a mop, the other palm up and pointing at the mess on the floor. His mold-yellow teeth ground hard against each other.

His black eyes twitched. “Just look at the—goddamn state of this place, I should be out _there_ corrupting nuns, kicking animals….”

“You get to torture anyone yet?” Ligur offered, knowing the reason for the demon’s extra fuss could be related. “You’re in a mood. That always helps.”

Hastur sputtered and scowled at the mop angrily for some reason. “V’e tortured hundreds already. It’s all the same.” He shook his head, “gotta clean up after each torture, then what’s the point of enjoying’em?”

“Mm,” Ligur conceded with a grunt, “…yeah, that’s rough.”

“And all I get is this sodding mop and bucket.” When Hastur shuffled around, his shoulders hunching as he moved the mop roughly in different directions, it gave Ligur a humorous mental image funny enough to let out a snort while he rested his head on his folded arms which perched atop a large chunk of upended rock just the perfect size for leaning on.

“You look like a bitchy old maid.”

Judging by the bitter look Hastur shot his way, it was apparent only Ligur found that observation amusing. He didn’t care. And his maggoty partner would get over it just as quickly, even he knew he was the bitchier one of the two. He also knew Ligur didn’t mind as long he could get some jabs in.

“How long is the sentence for?”

The chameleon demon’s attempt to sway the conversation away from Hastur’s misery was not successful, as the question caused the other demon’s sore-infected pale face to warp in agony.

“Until our Dark Prince says otherwise. Lucifer knows how long that’ll be.”

Another wet slap of goo hitting the ground punctuated the comment, finding a haunting rhythm with the rattling of chains and manacles in the distance which was already in harmony with the piercing screams of the damned and churning hydraulics from machines churning out torture to multiple prisoners in all the most unimaginable ways.

“Feed the hounds, oil the motors, gas the chambers, mop the floors, see to the newcomers, _inventory_ ,” he finally succumbed to a bottled up tantrum and threw the mop to the ground where it not made nearly a satisfying enough clatter to fit his fury. He folded his arms, sickly-blue lips pouting hideously.

“Slithering in’ere, attention-seeking little _fuck_ with his binder…,” Ligur didn’t need to ask to know who Hastur was mumbling about now, “showin it off infronnof our Dark Prince like the belly-crawling little bitch he is….”

Ligur rolled his eyes. While he didn’t have much of an opinion of the demon Crawly outside of a minute suspicion he always carried for the serpent since day one – why _would_ he have reason to trust a snake? – he never let the bloke get under his skin like he managed to slither under Hastur’s.

“That’s all bad, then. But I do remember you saying Beelzebub gave you a limited number of breaks per century. We should go feed a few Erics to the hounds, yeah? Always seems to get you to stop bitching.” Ligur considered himself an attentive partner, and always prided himself on his observation skills. He was confident that while Hastur would decline at first and make excuses not to, he always came around after a few minutes of chewing on the temptation.

As expected, Hastur huffed and shook his head, picking up the mop he threw pitifully to pretend to focus on a sludgy looking spot nearby. “No, too much to do. I only get a few, anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Ligur shrugged, “I’d say this counts—”

Something shifted behind him, and his chameleon’s eyes came just short of seeing whatever it was though when they swiveled around to the area, a few yards away in a dimly lit corner of confinement pits, there was nothing there.

A slow shift of his head over his left shoulder, Ligur narrowed his eyes, sniffed the air quietly, and was all at once struck by a peculiar stench.

Whatever Hastur was fussing about now was immediately interrupted.

“Oi, you smell that?” Ligur continued sniffing. Hastur must have caught the serious tone in his partner’s voice and stood still with his head turned in Ligur’s direction.

“What?” He matched the tone with just as much caution. When he didn’t get an answer, the toad demon walked toward the rock his partner was leaning on and joined his speculative stare at nothing in the distance.

“Smells...,” a few more sniffs, “exceptionally putrid.”

“Oh.” Hastur blanched, a tension in his shoulders Ligur didn’t catch before now melting away. “Well, that’s normal.”

“Mm,” he considered the word _normal_ for a moment, tasting the words on his tongue as it glided across the space between lip and teeth, “yeah, suppose so….” And because Ligur was a proper demon and proper demons trusted _nothing_ and _no one_ , he started in the direction where the movement came from, and most likely the smell too. He took slow, lurking steps toward the wrought iron door of one of the pits. Once he got to the bars he immediately leaned in and peered down, his demonic vision adjusting to the darkness with ease.

What Ligur saw made him stand there quiet and unblinking for several long minutes.

“…what’s in this one?”

“Hm?” Hastur had gone back to spreading sludge across the ground at some point and paused mid-mop to look up at Ligur before exchanging brief glances at the pit in question.

He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s empty.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

"It's not."

“I just did inventory, what the fuck do you mean it’s not?” The mop was thrown again, this time in a blanket of splinters.

Ligur waited until Hastur stomped his way to stand next to him at the door and threw his own stare down into the dark floor of the pit, one boiled lip twitching up in a snarl.

“Blessed _fuck_ ,” Hastur’s growl echoed down the steep walls and bounced around a shriveled mound of charred…something.

Something that stared back up at them with auburn colored eyes that shone brighter than anything in the darkness, brighter than the rest of it which was perhaps the most puzzling aspect of this thing; unidentifiable in appearance, it must have been something horribly mutilated and set on fire for what looked like years. Whatever charred mound of existence it was, it was the reason why every painstaking day it took to finish inventory was now all for nothing.

Ligur took a deep breath and counted the seconds in his head. He got to two.

Hastur lurched toward the iron bars, his claws gripping them on either side of his face as he snarled between the spaces. “Little _cunt_ , cuz’of you now I have to do inventory _again_. Whatever fucked you up to make you look like burnt shit is not gonna compare t’what I—”

“Keeps staring at us.” Ligur’s comment slipped under his breath in such an eerily placated manner it forced Hastur to all but stop and look at him. “The smell is coming from here, that thing.”

“What do you reckon it is?”

Ligur sucked his teeth. A thoughtful pause. “Something that must have done _something_ evil enough to get sent straight down here without trial or judgement.”

Hastur grunted, both in revelation and agreement. “Good point.” He turned his head back to hover over the pit’s mouth, and both demons stared down just as intently as the scorched rotting remains of a once mortal creature stared up and back at them, the void look in those eyes making it difficult to tell which demon they were focused on.

“Oi,” Ligur finally called out, suddenly growing agitated by the staring. He wasn’t much for staring contests. Too boring, and it made his hands itch. “What you doin down there?”

“What kinda question is that?” Hastur snorted. “Why is anyone in this bloody place—?”

“No shit. I’m messing with him.” Ligur didn’t wait for his partner to nod and grumble before calling out to the creature once more. “Oi, can you speak?”

They both waited, turning, leaning one ear closer to the iron bars in anticipation. Ligur didn’t expect to hear a response, so when a gurgled choke-like moan came echoing from the depths of the pit he exchanged an amused wide-eyed glance with Hastur.

“Starting to make out stuff. Think I see a torso. An arm. It’s gotta have a head or mouth if it makes noise.”

“Go on,” Hastur sounded like an excited newborn hellspawn, “ask it something else.”

“Alright.” Ligur stood up straight and cleared his voice, smirk solid and voice bleeding amusement. “Oi, what’s your name?”

They listened, and to their growing interest another gurgled choke-moan managed to sound a little like a word.

"Did it say Alf or Al?" Ligur asked.

“Al?” Hastur spat, crinkling his brows. “I hate that name.” He ripped in air through his nostrils and down the back of his throat, and it was like a drumroll in a way until Hastur used his neck as a slingshot and hacked a fat one down into the pit, like spitting over the edge of a bridge into a lake.

“Nice one.” Ligur gave compliments where they were deserved, despite being a proper demon. He glanced back to the neverending stare this mutilated hunk of existence was giving them. It probably did not have eyelids, that was his guess.

“Well, _Al_ ,” he tried it's name this time and yeah, he didn’t like the name either, “welcome to Hell, mate.” He gave a quick curtsy with a small wave around them.

He grinned, teeth gleaming and eyes turning a vibrant blood red orange, his chameleon following suit with equal malice and tinier teeth. “First rule in Hell, Al; never give a demon your name if they ask for it.”

The comment put Hastur in a fit of wet chuckles, which could have been delighted giggles if he weren’t so maggoty and lesioned, and Ligur felt tempted to instigate the creature more when he saw the toad on Hastur’s head grin.

Before he could continue Hastur belted out a ridiculing laugh. “Burnt little piece of shite like you will fit in here just fine.” A twin pair of grins, one gnarled and rotten and the other slightly less so, met the awkward stare head on.

“Kinda like to see what this thing was before it got torched.” Ligur wouldn’t mind taking this thing on with his fists, but fighting a literal charred carcass sounded about as fun as Hastur’s punishment.

“Probably won’t need to wait long for that. You can heal down here, y’know,” when Ligur turned to Hastur he rolled his yellow-green eyes at the way Hastur was wiggling his eyebrows, “makes the torture more fun.”

“Don’t know why you fuss so much down here if this kind of shit gets you off.”

“Mm. Maybe you’re right,” Hastur grunted and shrugged it off, “I’ll give this one a few centuries of the mild stuff, let’em heal up....”

Ligur’s eyes flared like the bright yellow-orange hue of hellfire.

“Then we’ll have some _real_ fun with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooh so spooky. I wonder who it is...
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, as we near Halloween<3 I thought some maggot husbands might be appropriate to place in the epilogue lol
> 
> I can already think of some one-shots I'd like to do, or perhaps a short sequel...? 
> 
> And to my readers: thank you everyone for sharing your feedback and interest throughout <3 it's given me some of the best days in these past eight months, and your support had me excited and driven to keep posting more chapters and it was such a fun ride.
> 
> Take care, everyone! Until next time!~~<3


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